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C H I C K A M A U G A 





LATE U. S. A. 

Author of "Chattanooga 


20? Broadway 

Copyrighted, iE 


All rights rescrvctl. 


N. B. — As in " Chattanooga," while the present 
story is purely one of love and adventure, the 
dates, topography, location and movements of 
troops referred to are given correctly. The 
events pertaining to the battle of Chickamauga 
are as nearly correct as a careful study of dif- 
ferent records has enabled me to judge of 


F. A. M. 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2010 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 




I. Opening of the Campaign, . . . . i 

II. A War of Wits I3 

III. A Devoted Confederate 23 

IV. A Guerrilla's Home, .... 38 
V. Carrying the News, 5i 


VII. Old Friends Meet 69 

VIII. Jakey Enters the Army, ... 81 

IX. Cipher Dispatches 91 

X. A Promise Soon Broken, ... 103 

XI. A Race for Life, no 

XII. A Changed Enemy, .... 124 

XIII. " Turned Over." i33 

XIV. An Unwelcome Prisoner, ... 142 

XV. Tried, 151 

XVI. You Shall Not Die 162 

XVII. Ratigan's Mission, 170 

XVIII. A Strange Meeting 180 





XIX. In the Shadow of Death, , . . 187 

XX. The Darkest Hour, .... 196 

XXI. A Military Problem, .... 204 

XXII. Jakey's Announcement 213 

XXIII. The First Gun at Chickamauga, . . 220 

XXIV. The Nineteenth of Septemrf.r, . . 229 
XXV. The Coming of the Reserve, . , . 238 

XXVI. Storming the Ridge, .... 250 

XXVII. An Important I,etter, .... 259 

XXVIII. The Choice of a Post, .... 269 

XXI.X. Punishment and Reward 273 

XXX. A Singular Ceremony, .... 281 



THE Army of the Cumberland is awakening. For 
months its thirty miles of torpid length have been 
marked by clusters of white tents like the rings of 
a gigantic anaconda. But now there is an arousing 
from its long period of lethargy. The tents are being 
struck, the men are stuffing knapsacks, rolling 
blankets, or swallowing from tin cups a last draught 
of invigorating coffee. Wagons are being loaded with 
all kinds of camp equipage — tents, camp cots, cooking 
utensils, the pine tables and army desks of the staff 
departments. Here orderlies are holding horses, 
waiting their riders, and there men are strapping 
blankets or ponchos behind saddles, or cramming 
bacon and "hard tack" into haversacks, while strik- 
ers empty the contents of the demijohn into canteens. 
Each regiment, as soon as formed, moves out into the 
road, the whole taking up the line of march by 
brigades and divisions. 

It is the right, or head of the monster, that awakens 


first. The main body of this wing moves diagonally 
toward the front and left, while cavalry pushes 
directly south to conceal the movement and produce 
a false impression on the enemy. All day the infan- 
try and artillery work their way over dirt roads, the men 
marching at will, smoking, chatting, laughing; the 
Irish regiments cracking jokes, the Germans singing; 
all with that esprit which pervades an army just start- 
ing, after a long period of idleness, on a new cam- 
paign. A lasliing of artillery horses, a cursing of 
mules, words of command, bugle calls, picket firing, 
the occasional boom of a gun, mingle confusedly, and 
in a country used only to the peaceful lowing of cat- 
tle or the songs of birds. 

So stream those men of the right, guns, caissons, 
horses, mules, wagons, all day long till the sun goes 
down. Then a halt is called, followed by the smell of 
burning wood from myriads of camp fires, the odor of 
coffee, the sizzle of bacon; while along the front is 
heard the cracking of rifles on the picket line. 

At midnight the right is in bivouac; the center and 
left still slumber in long rows of tents on avenues 
bordered with evergreens, the accumulation of a long 
continued rest in one place. But this is not the mid- 
night of headquarters. There, all is in motion. Be- 
fore the house of the commanding general at Mur- 
freesboro leaders of corps and divisions are mounting 
or dismounting, either having received or about to 
receive their dispositions. Staff officers are coming 
and going with verbal messages, while couriers are 
flying hither and thither with dispatches. Through 


a murky night the stream of comers and goers flows 
on incessantly. During the small hours a group of 
staff officers on duty, yet for the time being unem- 
ployed, gather about a piano while one of their num- 
ber sings inspiriting songs. 

At break of day many a soldier is still slumbering 
peacefully whose fitful sleep, for months to come, will 
be haunted by dreams of toilsome marches through 
mud and rain, of shrieking shells and pinging bullets, 
of Union cheers and "rebel yells"; all tinged with 
contrasting visions of home. At six o'clock on the 
center and left are heard the clear, sharp tones of a 
bugle. There is a movement in the army of sleepers. 
Masses of men pour from the tents, and swarm in the 
avenues. Successive bursts of cheering, like billows 
beating on an ocean coast, sweep the line of camps. 
The mist of canvas rocks unsteadily in the early 
shadows, then melts before the day. Throughout its 
whole length the Army of the Cumberland is in 
motion, advancing on that campaign which is to 
maneuver the Confederates out of Tennessee and 
lead up to the battle of Chickamauga. 

On a road running parallel with the Cumberland 
Mountains, which flank the Union army on its left, a 
strange-looking vehicle is going at a breakneck pace 
toward the south. The horse is a rawboned animal 
with long legs and neck, while the vehicle — a buggy — 
is so bespattered with mud that what paint remains on 
it is invisible. The bottom is partly gone; the dash- 
board would let through a cannon ball without being 
injured; the springs are badly bent; the top, which 


is let down, — there are no props to hold it up, — is 
shriveled and torn, its tatters flying behind in the 
wind. A woman in a striped calico dress, a sunbon- 
net of the same material, a pair of colored spectacles 
on her nose, holds the reins and urges forward the 
horse. Yet strange looking as is the conveyance and 
its occupant, for that time and region there is nothing 
unusual in the appearance of either. The country 
people inhabiting that portion of Tennessee are not 
cultured, and uncouthness is rather the rule than the 

Coming to a place where she can get a full view for 
some distance ahead, the woman glances over the in- 
tervening space between her and the next rise in the 
undulating ground. Seeing nothing to deter, she 
drives her horse on as rapidly as she can force him to 
go. Her buggy careens till it is in danger of going 
over; she is bounced from her seat with a prospect of 
being sent over the dashboard ; the mud flies, the 
horse wheezes, the buggy groans, but there is no 
slackening of pace. 

"Go on, Bobby, go on!" 

Turning a curve in the road partly hidden by trees, 
she sees a cavalry camp ahead. In the road an officer 
stands talking to a man in a farm wagon, beside whom 
on a board seat, its two ends resting on the wagon's 
sides, sits a boy of fourteen; while on a back seat, evi- 
dently borrowed from a more pretentious vehicle, is a 
young girl, perhaps three or four years the boy's 

The woman of the striped dress drove up to the 


group and, drawing rein, listened to what they were 

"Cap," said the farmer — all officers in the Union 
army were called by the people of the country either 
Cap or Gineral or mister — "Cap, I want ter go 
through the lines powerful bad." 

"Well, I'm thinkin', me good man," replied the 
ofificer with the brogue of an Irishman, "that's exactly 
what old Rosey wants to do; unless he prefers to get 
behind 'em and bag 'em from th' rear." 

"Oh, I don't mean fightin'. I wants ter go hum 

"Can't pass ye, me good man. Oi've orders not to 
pass anyone south while the army is mooven. There's 
no need to be tellin' ye that all day. Once ought to 
he sufficient." 

"What's thet?" cried a shrill voice from the buggy. 
"V don't mean fo' ter tell me I can't go hum?" 

"I fear, me dear leddy, that ye can't, if ye live be- 
yond our lines." 

"H'm. And so you'uns hev kem down hyar ter 
make war on women." 

"Well now, that depends on the kind of war. 
We've come down vi et arviis as me old preceptor at 
the university used to say — God bless 'im. Like 
enough the zn is for the men and the annis for the 

"I don't keer," replied the woman. "You'uns 
hain't got no business fo' ter come down hyar nohow. 
You're a mis'able set o' black abolishioners. I'm a 
gal 'thout nothin' ter fight with and you'uns " 


"Beauty and the beast," interrupted the officer, 

"Now see hyar, Mr. Yank, I got ter go hum. Pop 
he's away, and mother she's sick in bed." 
The officer scratched his head and thought. , 

"Well, me friends," he said presently, "Oi'm 
thinkin' O'll refer the case of all of yez to brigade 
headquarters. Would ye moind sittin' where ye are 
till I get an answer?" 

"Reckon not," from the farmer. 

"Hurry up," said the woman iii the buggy. 
"Mother's waitin' fo' me." 

The officer stepped into his tent near by and came 
out with a pencil and the back of an old letter. With 
these he proceeded to take down the information 
required. Approaching the buggy he said: 

"Will ye plaze favor me with your patronymic" — 
he paused while he looked to see if she were young 
or old — "miss?" 

"My what?" 

"Your patronymic." 

"Oh, talk Tennessee." 

"Well, then, your cognomen." 

"See hyar, Mr. Officer, ef y' want ter git anything 
outen me, y' want to talk squar. " 

"Please tell me your name." 

"Betsy Baggs. 'N yours?" 

"Major Burke, at your service. Are ye Union 
or " 

'' Rebel r' 

"Where do ye want to go?" 



"And that is at ?*' 


"Why are ye here?" 

"I been ter MacMinnville ter see mother's old 

"There's a shorter road from MacMinnville than 
this; why didn't ye take it?" 

The girl showed a slight confusion. 

"Oh, I got a friend at Franklin College. She'uns 
'n I'uns alius ben powerful thick." 

After getting the data as to all the party the major 
called a mounted man and directed him to take it to 
headquarters and ask for instructions. 

"Do ye know who to take it to?" he asked of the 
man as he was about to ride away. 

"It's to the gineral I'm takin' it." 

"The gineral? Man, would you get me court mar- 
tialed for disregard of the regulations? Take it to the 
chafe o' staff, ye lunkhead, and from him ye'll get the 
answer. It's not the loikes o' you can approach the 
gineral. Moind now, and don't spind the time talk- 
in' with the guard." 

While the messenger was away the party listened to 
the voluble tongue of the young Confederate symi)a- 
thizer in the buggy. She entered into the causes of 
the war, depicted the benefits of negro slavery, espe- 
cially on the slave, spoke admiringly of all Confeder- 
ate soldiers, and ransacked the dictionary to find words 
to express her loathing of Yankees. 

"Come now. Miss Baggs, " said the major good- 


naluredly. "There's a young fellow in me regiment 
who'll suit ye exactly. He is an Oirishman from the 
crown of his head to the sole of his fut. He only 
came over a few years ago. He is as smart as a whip. 
There was but one gurrel in County Cavan who could 
outtalk 'im. That's the reason he left Oirland." 

"When I want a man I reckon I can find one right 
hyar outen the yarth o' Tennessee, 'thout goin' to 
Oirland \.tx find one. Is he red-headed?" 

"Red as the linin' of an artillery officer's cape." 

"What kind o' eyes?" 

"Blue as a robin's egg." 

"Wal, trot him out; I'll take a look at him." 

"Oi'll call him meself," and the major went into 
one of the tents. There he found Corporal Ratigan, 
the man he sought. 

"Corporal Rats," he said — everyone called the cor- 
poral "Rats" — "there's a gurrel out there that wants 
to go through the lines. Oi've sent to brigade head- 
quarters to find out if they'll give her a pass. I want 
you to make her acquaintance." 

"At your service, major," said the corporal, salut- 
ing. And the two walked out to where the travelers 
were waiting. 

"Miss Baggs," said the major, "allow me to pre- 
sint Corporal Ratigan, commonly called 'Rats' by his 
comrades, one of the most gallant men in the regi- 

Corporal Ratigan bowed and uncovered a head of 
hair fully up to the major's description of it. It sur- 
mounted one of the most honest of countenances. 


There was an air of gentility about the man despite 
his private's uniform, and the smile with which he 
greeted the young woman could not have been more 
bewitching had he saluted a marchioness. Admira- 
tion for the strapping Irish- Yankee soldier stood big 
in Miss Bagg's eyes. 

"How'de," she said, with something that was in- 
tended for a bow. "Yer a purty likely lookin' feller 
ef y' air playin' Yank. Y'd better a stayed in Oir- 
/and than come down hyar to make war on women." 

"And have I overpainted the beautiful tint of his 
hair?" asked the major, laughing. 

"It'd make good winter har; needn't hev no fire in 
th' house." 

Horses' hoofs were heard down the road, and in a 
few minutes the messenger who had been sent to head- 
quarters rode up. 

"Where's the answer?" asked the major. 

"Divil an answer did I get, major," said the man, 
saluting awkwardly. 

"And what d'ye mean by that?" 

"Well, I kem up to headquarthers and the gineral 
was gettin' off of his harse to go in his tint. 'Have 
ye anythin' for me, me man?' he asked. 'Niver a 
worrud, gineral,' I answered, salutin' respectful. 
'What's the paper ye have in your belt?' 'It's for the 
chafe o' staff.' 'Well, give it to me.' 'Divil a bit, 
gineral; it's not for the loikes o' me to be givin' yez 
a paper. Oi'm instructed to give it to the chafe o' 
staff.' 'Give me the paper, you cussed ©irishman,' he 
said, 'or Oi'U sind ye to the guard tint.' 'Niver will 


I be guilty of breakin' the Regulations or the Articles 
of War, gineral.' 'Corporal o' the guard!' yelled the 

"The corporal kem and saluted the gineral, him 
red as Corporal Ratigan's head. 'Take that paper 
from that man,' he roared. Well, bein' surrounded 
by the guard who were at the corporal's call I sur- 

"And thin?" gasped the major, glaring at the stupid 

"And thin the gineral said, 'Go to your camp and 
tell Major Burke to put y' in the guard tint for twenty- 
four hours. And whin he sinds another orderly to me 
not to sind a recruit, or I'll put him in arrest.' " 

"BytheHowly Ye infernal, raw Did ye 

get no answer?" 

" 'Oi'll sind an answer by a soldier who has been 
properly trained,' said the gineral. Didn't ye tell me 
right, major?" 

"Corporal o' the guard!" cried the major, by way 
of reply. 

"Take that man," he said, when the corporal came, 
"to the guard tent." 

As the messenger was marched away, protesting 
against the injustice of his treatment for obeying 
orders, a staff officer rode up. Taking the major apart, 
he instructed him to let the applicants go through, 
provided they would take an oath not to give any in- 
formation concerning the Union troops to the enemy. 
With the passes he brought a suggestion from the gen- 
eral to send some person with one or the other of the 


two parties under pretense of an escort, but really 
with a view to discovering the proximity of the enemy. 
Now that the main army was moving it might be well 
to discover if the cavalry on its flank had fallen back. 
The ground was unfavorable for a reconnoissance, 
hence the suggestion to get tl'^f information by strate- 

The major hunted the camp for a Bible on which 
to administer the oath, and called on Corporal Ratigan 
to help him. He explained the general's request and 
told Ratigan that he wanted him to go with Miss Baggs. 
Having given the corporal a full understanding of 
what was required of him he went back to the party 
with a Bible, followed by Ratigan. 

The farmer and his family were first sworn, and 
then the major offered to swear Miss Baggs. 

"I hain't goin' t' do no swearin'," she said defi- 

"Oi'm glad to hear that," remarked Corporal Rati- 

"What fo', fire top?" she asked, surprised. 

"I'd be breakin' me heart at partin' with ye." 

"Y' hain't got no heart nohow, or y' wouldn't be in 
th' Yankee army." 

"Don't ye believe it." exclaimed the major, "his 
heart's as warrum as the color of his hair. Come, 
young leddy, take the oath. I'd be sorry to be part- 
in' ye from your mother, and she sufferin'." 

"I won't." 

"Won't ye take it for inoi sake ? " queried Ratigan 
with a mock appeal. 


"Y'll hev ter git some 'un uglier'n you'uns ter move 
me. I hanker after ugly men, but you'uns ain't quite 
ugly enough fo' me." 

"Nowye're talkin' with a seductive tongue," quoth 
Ratigan. "If the major will permit Oi've a mind to 
see ye through the line* meself without the oath." 

The corporal looked slyly at the major and the 
major returned the corporal's sly glance. 

*'Very well," said Burke. "You go with her, and 
moind that she isn't keepin' her ois open to see things 
for Gineral Bragg's benefit. Miss Baggs, if ye'll just 
keep lookin' roit into the corporal's blue arbs ye'll get 
through all right, and if ye're tempted to look aside 
just fix 'em on his head and ye'll be blinded." 

The corporal went for his horse, buckled on his 
revolver, and coming back started out to play diplo- 
mat; in other words to acquire knowledge by strategy. 



pORPORAL RATIGAN rode gallantly beside Miss 
\y Baggs, the t'.vo keeping up a constant picket firing 
which occasionally warmed to the dignity of a skir- 
mish. Miss Baggs was in an excellent humor, and the 
corporal quite delighted at the role he was playing. 
He pretended to watch her carefully whenever any- 
thing belonging to the army was passed on the road, 
while he was secretly forming his plans for getting far 
enough on the way to determine the proximity of the 
enemy. He felt no suspicion as to Miss Baggs carry- 
ing information. Being on the flank of the army she 
would not be likely to have much information to carry. 
The country people were constantly passing between 
the lines, and considering their harrowiii'T excuses no 
one except with a heart of stone could well prevent 

"What's in the box ye have with ye?'' asked R::ti- 
gan, looking at a square little box on the seat beside 
her. It had been covered with a shawl, which had 
fallen from over it, exposing it to view. 

"Thet? Thet's a jihilosophy machine. Y' see my 
friend, Sal Glassick, she knows a heap o' things. 
She's tryen ter beat some on 'em inter my pore noddle. 
Reckon she won't hev no easy time." 


t4 chickamaUga. 

"What branch does she teach ye with that?" 

"VVal, ye see mother she's sufferin' with palsy, 'n 
this hyar box is a — wal, Sal, she calls it a gal — 
gal " 

"Galvanic battery?" 

"Thet's it. Y' hit it right thar. A galvanic bat- 
tery. We'uns 're goen ter try 't on mother. Lord- 
a-massy, what's thet?" 

She directed his attention from the box to a cloud 
of smoke hanging over the gaps in the hills far to the 
west. They were crossing a mountain spur and could 
see it quite plainly. 

"There's foightin' goen on there," remarked the 

" 'N you'uns air gitten licked," observed the re- 
bellious Miss Baggs. 

"How d'ye know that?" asked Ratigan, surprised 
that she should know anything about it. 

"Oh, I reckon." 

"It's a quare thing, the reckonen ov gurrels." 

"Wal, ye see women hain't got the big heads men 
hev. Th' can't reason things out. They hev t' jump 
at 'em, mebbe, like ants. Ants is powerful small, but 
they're most times right when they reckon." 

Ratigan made no reply. He was thinking that Miss 
Baggs did not appear to be so plain a personage as he 
at first thought her. He looked at her hands, encased 
in coarse gloves, and noticed that they were small for 
"poor white trash." Her attire was very cheap and 
her cowhide shoes did not betoken refinement; but 
somehow he began to gather a notion that Miss Baggs 


was not so dreadfully common as she appeared. The 
corporal came of an excellent family in his native land, 
and under ordinary circumstances could detect refine- 
ment. He looked for Miss Baggs to use some expres- 
sion beyond the ken of a "poor white" girl, but she 
did not. So he dismissed the matter from his mind 
and began to wonder what excuse he could make to go 
on with her under flag of truce when she should pass 
the Union pickets. 

"We'uns air goen slow enough ter worrit a snail," 
remarked Miss Baggs. 

"And why should we be goen faster?" 

"Whar'd y' steal thet critter?" she asked, instead of 
replying, looking sidewise at the corporal's mount. 
"It's likely 'nuff fo' Tennessee blood." 

"Oh! That's United States; don't you see the 
'U. S.' branded on him?" 

"Can he trot?" 

"He can beat anything in the brigade." 

"D'ye think he can trot with this hyar critter o' 

Ratigan looked at her raw-boned brute and burst 
into a laugh. 

"Wal, now, you needn't take on so. Reckon I c'd 
give y' a brush ef y' was minded." 

"All right, me dear; here's a straight bit of road." 

"Fo' what stakes?" 

"A five-dollar greenback." 

"Agin Confederate money?" 

"With pleasure." 

The corporal drew forth a crisp five-dollar bill. 


And Miss Baggs put the thumb and finger of one hand 
in the palm of the other under her glove, and drew 
out a Confederate shinplaster. 

"Who holds the stakes?" asked the corporal glee- 


"Divil a bit. The lady shall hold 'em." 

She took the bill he handed her and gave the lines 
a jerk with a "git along thar!" "Remember, it's a 
trottin' race." 

Ratigan was at a disadvantage from the first. He 
did not dare to use his spurs lest his horse should 
break from a trot. Miss Baggs's animal began to reach 
his lank legs out, triangulating in a lumbering fashion 
that put him over the ground at no inconsiderable 
speed. The corporal did his best and kept pace 
pretty well. 

"Reckon my 'Bob Lee' kin knock the stuffin' outen 
your critter, Mr. sojer. Git up, Bob." 

With that Bob increased the length of his triangula- 
tions, increasing their frequency at the same time. 
The result was that he carried the old buggy with 
Betsy Baggs in it right away from the corporal. In- 
deed, Ratigan fell behind steadily. If he should 
break from a trot he would lose the race, if he should 
keep up his trot he would lose Miss Baggs. 

Suddenly an officer appeared on the road and re- 
garding him sternly ordered him to halt. 

"Oi'm followin' the young lady, sir. Oi'm on of- 

cial business for the gineral, commandin' the th 

cavalry brigade," 


"Well, my man, you're a well-disciplined orderly ; 
you keep the regulation forty paces to the rear. Give 
your horse the spur and catch up." 

Ratigan, who could not well explain to an officer 
that he was running a race, and fearing to lose his 
charge, gave his horse the spur and dashed after her 
at a gallop. He reached her in a "blown" condition, 

"Oi've lost," he cried, out of breath. 

"Reckon y' have," was Miss Baggs's sole reply. 

"The money's yours." 

"Reckon it ar," repeated Miss Baggs. 

"Yer always reckonen. Mebbe ye reckoned about 
the end of the race loike the ant ye were talkin' 

At that moment they espied the outpost ahead. 

"Wal, hyar we air," said Miss Baggs. "Don't 
want t' part from you'uns, Mr. sojer. I'm powerful 
bad struck hyar." And she put her hand on her 

"Like enough Oi can find some reason to go on with 
ye a bit. Oi'm all broken up meself, sure enough." 

"I hopes y' kin." 

"Lieutenant," said the corporal, saluting an officer 
who came out from the picket post. "Major Burke 
ordered me to see this young lady out of the lines. 
She has a pass to Dunlap." 

The lieutenant read the pass and told Miss Baggs 
she might go through. 

Ratigan was racking his brains to know what to do. 
He had been instructed to go through with Miss 
Baggs under some pretense, but his ingenuity when 


put to the test failed him. Miss Baggs came to his 

"Mr. Corporal," she said, "I don't hanker ter part 
'ith thet bloomen head o' har o' yourn. Would y' 
mind seein' a pore lone woman ter th' Confederate 

The corporal whispered a few words in the lieuten- 
ant's ear. The result was that in five minutes four 
cavalry privates were placed under the corporal's 
orders, who held in his hand a pole cut from a tree at 
the side of the road, to which he had attached a white 
cotton handkerchief. 

Then the old buggy, which rattled at every turn of 
the wheel and threatened to collapse at every mudhole, 
proceeded down the road. Corporal Ratigan can- 
tered alongside, while the four privates followed 
directly in rear. 

But a few miles had been traversed when a horse- 
man — he proved to be the enemy's vedette — was seen 
standing in the road ahead. As the party approached, 
they saw a dozen more advancing to his support. But 
the Confederates evidently saw the white flag, for no 
other demonstration was made than the riding for- 
ward of an officer with half a dozen men to meet those 
who were advancing. 

"What do you want?" asked the officer gruffly. 

"Flag to see the lady to your lines." 

".Under a commissioned officer?" 

"Only meself, a corporal," said Ratigan. 

"Well, you can turn about pretty quick, and get 
back to where you came from. The next such flag 


sent out will be taken in and won't get out 

"Captain, don't you know me?" said Miss Baggs, 
smiling at the officer. 

"Well, upon my word. You don't mean " 

Miss Baggs put her finger on her lip. 

"These men came at my request," she continued, 
"so I hope you will not find any fault." 

The officer raised his hat, but said nothing. 

"Good-morning, corporal," she said. "I'm much 
obliged for your trouble." 

"You're quite welcome, miss." 

Both parties moved away simultaneously. They 
had scarcely started before the corporal heard his 
name spoken in a v/oman's voice, but one with which 
he was not familiar. 


He turned and saw what must be Miss Baggs, for 
her dress was the same, though the head and neck 
were changed, standing in the buggy, her back to the 
horse, her face directly toward him. Her glasses 
were gone, her sunbonnet hung in one hand, while she 
held the reins in the other. Never had the corporal 
beheld so great a change in so brief a s];)ace of time. 
The jolting had disarranged a mass of dark hair which 
had partly fallen over her shoulders. Her eyes were 
black and lustrous, her complexion an olive relieved 
by a ruddiness on the cheek. Her superb head was 
set on her neck as if it had been placed there by an 
artist. The face was lighted by a smile of triumph — 
a smile so bewitching that it haunted the corporal to 
his dying day. 

20 chickamaugA. 

Ratigan had not recovered from his surprise before 
she spoke to him in a rich contralto voice, as little like 
that he had heard from her as a fife is like the mellow 
tones of an organ. 

"Corporal, please present my compliments to Major 
Burke and thank him for me for his kindness, and tell 
hii"rt that when he sends another woman through the 
lines under pretense of keeping her eyes shut, when 
he has an especial purpose of his own in view, not to 
send an Oirishma?i for an escort," The smile on her 
lips broadened and showed a set of white teeth. 
"The Oirish race as diplomats are not usually suc- 
cessful. Au revoir, corporal." 

There was a grin on the faces of the Confederate 
lookers-on, and astonishment on the honest counte- 
nance of Corporal Ratigan. 

"And Rats," she continued, evidently enjoying 
bringing out the word with her rich voice, as one loves 
to roll old wine on the tongue, "when a woman de- 
sires to race, it is not always for the money up." She 
tossed the bill she had won toward him. 

"And, Rats! don't race again with anyone with a 
raw-boned animal with long legs. 'Bobby Lee* is 
from the Blue Grass regions of Kentucky. There's 
something wrong about his breathing apparatus, but 
even with that disadvantage he can trot a mile over a 
good road in 2.50." 

Had Miss Baggs appeared less bewitching as she 
stood there under the protection of half a dozen Con- 
federate troopers, Ratigan would have turned away 
impatiently. As it was, she seemed to hold him by a 


"One thing more, my bonny cardinal flower. Tell 
the major that I like 'the young man from County 
Cavan' he has recommended tome, very much." Her 
eyes fairly danced. "When the war is over I hope 
you will look me up. Inquire for Betsy Baggs at the 
St. Cloud Hotel, Nashville." 

With this she threw him a kiss from the tips of her 
fingers, which, now that her glove was removed, he 
noticed were white and round. There was really 
something sympathetic in the last glance she gave him. 
In it was a regret tliat it had been necessary for her 
to deceive so honest and manly a fellow. It was the 
final dart that pierced the Irishman's heart and com- 
pleted his enthrallment. 

Leaving the corporal and his men gaping in the 
road the party moved away. The last thing Ratigan 
heard was a hoarse laugh from one of the Confederates, 
which was rebuked by Miss Baggs and reprimanded 
by the officer. 

The corporal led his party northward in no good 
humor. At the picket post he left the men he had 
taken with him, and rode on alone meditatively. In 
passing a part of the road where there was no one to 
hear he reined in his horse and exclaimed aloud: 

"Damn it! I believe the witch is carrying impor- 
tant information." 

The thought filled him with horror. Who was she? 
What was she? What was the box she called a gal- 
vanic battery? For more than an hour he had at- 
tended a rude country girl, who when under the pro- 
tection of Confederate officers, bloomed into a hand- 


some woman. He was as much chagrined at his own 
stupidity as he was bewildered by the cunning of Miss 

Entering camp he slunk away to his tent, and did 
not report the outcome of his mission to Major Burke 
till just before "taps." Then he only said: "Their 
pickets are three miles down the road beyond ours." 

"Are ye share?" 

"Oi am. Oi left the young lady — Oi mean the 
counthry gurrel — among 'em. And the vixen blew 
me a kiss at parten." 

"Ah, Rats, ye're a sly dog. Oi'm shure ye did 
your work well." 

"Major," replied the corporal, "don't ye believe it. 
All the divils in hell if they be men are no match for 
a woman." 

"And if they be women, Rats?" 

"Then God save 'em both." 



ON the morning of the general advance of the Army 
of the Cumberland a drizzling rain set in which 
lasted, at intervals, during the whole campaign. Day 
after day the men tramped through the mire, often to 
lie down at night with no means of lifting themselves 
out of pools except by cutting the wet branches from 
the trees, and on these making a bed in drenched 
clothes. The artillery soon cut up the roads so that 
the guns sank to the hubs of the wheels. The right 
continued to march toward the left and in the direc- 
tion of the base of the Cumberland plateau, where 
Miss Betsy Baggs and the others were passing between 
the lines. The Unionists were moving upon gaps in 
the foot hills held by the Confederates, and necessary 
to the latter to prevent their enemies getting on their 
right, and thus compelling them to leave their fortifi- 
cations at Tullahoma and fight on open ground. 

It was the day that the Union men attacked these 
gaps that Miss Baggs passed under Confederate pro- 
tection, and the farmer and the two young people with 
him were also pursuing their route south. Fortunately 
for him, the farmer, being on the flank of the two 
armies, was not forced to pass over roads cut up by 



either. After Major Burke had administered the oath 
not to divulge anything they had seen concerning the 
Union forces to the farmer and the young girl in the 
wagon with him (he considered the boy too young to 
treat in the same way), the party were suffered to 
depart and proceeded down the road. 

"Jake," said the farmer, slapping the horses' backs 
Avith the reins, '>what hev y' larned at skule?" 
"Larned how terp lay 'hop scotch' and 'shinny.' 
"I don't mean thet kind I mean real larnen." 
"Jakey was at a great disadvantage, pa," remarked 
the girl on the rear seat, "because he was obliged to 
go in classes with little bits of boys. You remember 
he didn't know his letters when he went to school." 
"No more did you," said the father. 
"Oh, yes, I did. I began to study them a month 
before I went away, and I taught Jakey, so that he 
knew something about them, too, when he got there." 
"Air th' doen much talken 'bout th' war up no'th?" 
"Well, it isn't at all like it is down hyar" (no South- 
erner will ever change the pronunciation of this word). 
"They take lots of interest in it 'n all that, but laws, 
't's one thing to get up in th' morning 'n read the 
papers 'bout battles 'n such things, 'n another to have 
soldiers running all over y', specially taking the gar- 
den truck 'n the horses outen th' barn — I mean out of 
the barn. Teacher, she had the hardest work to break 
me from saying 'outen' for 'out of.' It seems she 
hasn't quite done it yet." She spoke the last words 
with a sigh. 

"Lordy, Souri, y' talk like a fine lady compared 


'ith what y' did afore y' went no'th. Jake, would y' 
like ter drive 'em?" 


The father handed the reins to his son, who, consid- 
ering that he had not driven a horse for a year, handled 
them with considerable skill. 

"How did y' leave ma?" asked the daughter. 

"Wal, yer maw she war a heap lonesome 'thout 
you'uns, 'n she's been a worriten fo' fear ye'd git sick 
up thar 'ith no one ter tend ter y', but sence th' time 
fo' yer comen hum hez drawed nigh she's puckered 
up pretty peart." 

The boom of a gun came faintly from far down on 
the lower level and the cannonading heard by Cor- 
poral Ratigan and his charge began. Taking up the 
whip the countryman gave his horses a cut. 

"I want ter make hum afore somep'n happens. 
Thur's goen ter be a big fight 'bout Tullyhoomy. 
Thur's forts all round the place 'n big guns on 'em." 

The horses trotted on briskly for a short distance, 
when looking ahead the farmer could see the picket 
post. He got his pass ready and when they reached 
the post an officer came out to examine it. 

"Is your name Ezekiel Slack?" he asked of the 

"Zeke Slack, yas, thet's my name." 

"And yours?" to the girl, raising his forage cap 

"Missouri Slack." 

"The other name on the pass refers to the boy, I 
suppose. You have a name, sonny, haven't you?" 


he asked absently, while he was studying the pass. 
Though it is questionable if the inquiry was not in- 
tended to show some facetiousness before the pretty 

"Hev I got hr .^" 

"O Jakey," said his sister, "don't fall back into 
that habit of asking questions, instead of answering 
them. You know how hard they tried to break you 
of it at school. And say 'hair,' not 'har. ' " 

"I got a name," said Jake. "D' y' reckon a boy, 
fourteen 's goen ter git on 'thout a name?" 

"Well, what is it?" asked the officer, smiling. 


"Jake what?" 

"Slack," answered the farmer. "These two'uns is 
my children. Th' ben ter skule up in Ohio. Th' 
got lots o' larnen. Reckon they'll down th' old 

"Union or Confederate sympathies?" 


"All right. Go ahead." 

Leaving the picket, they came to an opening in the 
country which enabled them to get a view of the 
region lying to the west. The farmer, though desir- 
ous of getting on, could not resist a temptation to rein 
in his horses and Avatch the fighting, or the distant evi- 
dences of it, that morning going on at Hoover's Gap. 
Volleys of musketry were mingled with the deeper 
tones of cannon. Then the firing ceased for a while, 
when the booms began again, continued and rapid. 
A white smoke rose above n ridge on which Confed- 


erate cannons were shelling the advancing Union 
troops on the ground below. Souri Slack thought of 
the lives that were passing from under that smoke and 
covered her face with her hands. 

When the sounds ceased Farmer 'Jack drove on, 
and soon reached the Confederate picket. The party- 
were sent in charge of a trooper to the headquarters 
of an officer commanding a body of cavalry on the 
Confederate extreme left. His headquarters were in 
a house beside the road. It had once been in the 
center of a neat country place. The fences, the out- 
houses, the walks, had all been in excellent condition 
prior to the first passage of troops. Now, of the 
fences there was an occasional upright post left; the 
walks were overgrown with weeds and grass; the out- 
houses had nearly all been torn down. The place was 
a picture of desolation. Nevertheless, the general who 
temporarily resided there was making himself very 

The wagon drew up before the house and the con- 
ducting trooper sent in word to the general that a 
party, who had come in from the Union lines, were 
waiting outside, desiring permission to go on south. 
An order came to send the party all inside. 

The three travelers entered the house to find a tall 
man with an iron-gray beard reclining in a rocking- 
chair with as much apparent unconcern as if war were 
simply a pastime. 

"You have just come from the enemy's lines, I 
hear," he said to the farmer, 

"Yas, sir." 


"What force did you see in the region through 
which you passed?" 

The farmer explained that he could not answer the 
question, inasmuch ^s he had been permitted to pass 
after taking an oath not to give any information. 

"H'm. You are quite right not to answer under 
the circumstances," observed the general. "Did your 
daughter take the same oath?" 

"Yas, general," said Souri. 

"Surely they didn't administer an oath to a boy of 
your age?" he said, turning to Jakey. 

"Reckon th' thought I war too little to swar, " said 
Jakey. He thrust his hands in his pockets, a- sure 
sign that he was steadying himself for a conflict of 
wits and words. But the general was not acquainted 
with the peculiar cliaracteristics of Jakey Slack, and 
prepared to question him as unconcernedly as he 
would pump water from a well. 

"What route did you come?" he asked of the 

"I met the children at Galletin," replied Slack. 
"I driv 'em from thar through Lebanon and Liberty." 

"Sonny," said the general, turning to Jakey, "did 
you pass any troops on the way?" 



"What's thet?" 

"Soldiers who walk and carry guns." 

"Didn't see none o' them kind,'' 

"Did you see any artillery?" 

"Don't know what them'iins air," 


"Men with great big guns — cannon." 

"No, sir. Didn't see no 'tillery." 

"Then what you saw must have been cavalry." 

"Didn't see none o' them'uns nuther." 

The general looked surprised. 

"Then what did you see? That's all the arms of 
the service I ever heard of; and I am an old soldier." 

"Critter companies." 

"Oh, I see," exclaimed the general, remembering 
the mountain Tennesseans' name for cavalry. "How 
many soldiers belonging to the 'critter companies', as 
you call thenj, did you see?" 

"Wal, I counted twenty, 'n thet's 's fur as I got at 
countin' in skule." 

Souri was about to remind her brother that he had 
proved himself one of the best boys in the school at 
mental arithmetic, but desisted. 

"H'm!" The general thought a moment and beat a 
reveille with his fingers on the arm of his chair. 

"What were they doing within the Federal lines 
just before you left the outposts?" 

"Wal, I only noticed one man, 'n he war doen 
somep'n very partickeler." 

"What was it?" 

"He war looken at the sky through a flat round 
thing what looked like a big squashed apple." 

"Not a field glass, was it?" 

"No, sir; reckon 'twasn't thet." 

"Was the man of high rank?" 

"Reckon he war; he had stripes on his arm." 

"Tut, tut, he wore chevrons, He Avas only a non- 


commissioned ofificer. Can't you describe more nearly 
the object through which he was looking?" 

"VVal, I think I hearn some'un call it a can — 
can " 

"Not a canteen?" 

"Yes, thet's it." 

The general looked sharply at the boy, who looked 
stolidly stupid. He determined to try another route 
through which to lead Jakey's infantile mind. 

"Were the troops you saw in camp, or on the 
march, or in bivouac?" 

"Don't know what thet ar last air; but th' trees 'n 
brush war so thick I couldn' see plain." 

"Can't you tell me if you saw any infantry; sol- 
diers who walk and carry guns, you know?" 

"I never looks at them kind o' sojers, " replied 
Jakey contemptuously. "1 only notices 'em when 
they're on critters' backs." 

"That will do," said the general. Then turning to 
a staff ofificer near him, he said: 

"Captain, you may pass these people South," and 
added in an undertone: "Ride over to division head- 
quarters and say that nothing has yet been obtained of 
the enemy's movements in this vicinity by questioning 
citizens. Only one party has come through, a farmer 
with his son and daughter. The farmer and his 
daughter took an oath not to give any information 
concerning the dispositions of the enemy, and the boy 
is profoundly stupid." 

There was a sound of hoofs without, mingled with 
the rattle of wheels, Looking through an open win- 


dow, an officer was seen to dismount and hand a 
woman from a mud-covered, paint-rubbed buggy. 
All recognized Miss Elizabeth Baggs. The general 
arose from his chair and went out to meet her at the 
front door. From there he conducted her into a room 
where they could confer together alone. 

"What luck?" he inquired. 

"I struck their wires within their lines midway 
between Murfreesboro and MacMinnville, at mid- 
night, and no one was near. I threw my wire over 
the line and made my connections with my instru- 
ment. I waited till nearly daylight before any mes- 
sage of importance came along, though dispatches 
were passing all the while. At last one came in 
cipher. I took it down, but as we haven't the key, 
I fear it will avail us nothing." 

"Let me see it," said the general. 

Miss Baggs handed him a piece of paper on which 
was written : 

Murfreesboro, Tenn. 
June 28, '63. 
Volunteers Garfield with circling between you pos- 
session turn an be cob Bumble at to get that possible 
by move Benjamin pony chief rapidity around that 
put of the hours ready shingle to notice enemy's Tul- 
lahoma your point the by of poliwog of plateau Nig- 
gard if desire and hope forward to haha move we 
right I command and mountain order staff. 

The general read the dispatch over carefully and 
then, looking up at Miss Baggs, remarked: 


"Can't it be interpreted, general?" 

"I fear not without the key. It is doubtless an 
important dispatch, and I shall send it at once to gen- 
eral headquarters. If they can decipher it they are 
welcome to do so. I don't care to try it." 

Calling an aid-de-camp the general bade him carry 
the message to the army telegraph station, a short dis- 
tance to the rear, and repeat it to General Bragg. 

"General," said Miss Baggs in an undertone, "if 
you will let me have the original or a copy, I will try 
to decipher it. I may find a clew that will aid me 
hereafter, though I fear it will be too late to take ad- 
vantage of information contained in this one." 

"Certainly. Lieutenant, return the dispatch I have 
given you to this lady, after it has been repeated." 

The officer departed. The general turned again to 
Miss Baggs with a serious look. 

"Do you know that you are engaged in a very haz- 
ardous service.?" 


"And do you understand the penalty, if caught?" 

"Death, I suppose." 

"There's no telling whether it would be death or a 
long imprisonment in the case of a; a man 
would hang." 

Miss Baggs's countenance changed from an expres- 
sion of indifference to one of those flashes of the super- 
human attributes that lurk within the human soul. 

"Am I to make anything of my life, when thousands 
of the South's defenders are giving theirs every day? 
Have I not seen our homes laid desolate? Have I 


not seen my brothers, my friends, those I have loved, 
those I have played with as children, cut down by 
either the bullet or disease? For months I devoted 
myself to the care of the sick in the hospitals. There 
I learned to dread a long continuance ot this struggle. 
There I conceived the idea of doing something to win 
success for our armies by giving them an advantage 
not possessed by the enemy. I consulted one high in 
rank. 'How can I give my life to the best advan- 
tage?' I asked. 'In the secret service.' 'Point the 
way.' 'Do you know anything of telegraphy?' 'No, 
but I can learn.' 'Go and study a month, and then 
come to me.' For a month I studied night and day. 
I learned to read words from the clicking of the keys 
as readily as I can read letters. I returned to my 
adviser. You know the rest." 

The general paced the floor with a clouded brow. 

"I dread a catastrophe," he said, "in the case of 
one inspired by such noble sentiments. I dread to 
see a woman exposed to ignominy — perhaps death." 

"If that time comes, general, God will give me 
strength to bear it." 

The general was silent a moment, and then asked 

"Is your brother aware of what you are doing?" 

"He is." 

"And he consents?" 

"He does not. We are individuals. He is one of 
the noblest of the South's legitimate defenders, but he 
is not responsible for my acts — one of its illegitimate 


"The pitcher that goes often to the well is at last 

"Then, someone else will spring up to carry on the 

"God grant that the day may be far distant; that 
it may never come. I can hardly approve of it, 
though you are working in my cause." 

"General," said the woman, her face again lighting 
as if inspired by some absorbing thought, "each 
side has an organized secret service. What general 
would dare report to his government that he had 
acquired information which would enable him to de- 
stroy his enemy, but it had been obtained by illegiti- 
mate means and he would not take advantage of it? 
Yet what general would care to be called a spy him- 
self? We are engaged in a terrible struggle. Before 
its close any and all means will be used to conquer. 
Cities will be burned, vast districts will be laid waste. 
Must I cease to employ the most effective method of 
all, because I am doing illegitimate work? Is my 
work more illegitimate than trying to conquer a peo- 
ple fighting for their independence?" 

The genera] made no reply for a time. 

"Yours is a singular family," he said presently, 
"You are all alike, and yet you differ." 

"We are united in the cause, we differ as to the 

The interview was interrupted by the ringing of a 
dinner bell in the hall. The general called a negro 
and bade him show Miss Baggs to a room upstairs, to 
which she retired for a few minutes. The servant 
brought in her belongings from the buggy, together 


with the little box. When she came downstairs the 
party were waiting for her before going in to dinner. 
Souri, who had seen her covered by the sunbonnet 
and her eyes screened with glasses, was astonished. 
She saw a woman three or four years older than her- 
self, the beauty of her head and neck contrasting with 
the homeliness of her costume. Miss Baggs noticed 
Souri's surprise, and going up to her took both her 
hands and kissed her cheek. 

"You sweet child," she said feelingly, "you can't 
get over my appearance when you met me on the road 
this morning, can you? What a 'fright' I must have 
seemed to you! I don't care for those Yankee 
officers, but bless your innocent heart, I can't bear 
to have shocked you." 

Souri did not reply in words, but she looked at 
Miss Baggs admiringly. 

"Don't think hard of me," the latter went on, draw- 
ing Souri aside and motioning the rest to go on into 
the dining room, "I do only what I believe to be a 
duty, for you must suspect that I keep a secret. You 
could not play a part beneath you, child; you are too 
loving, too innocent, and you wonder how any other 
woman can." 

"I did once." 


"Before I went to school." 

"For your country?'' 


Miss Baggs looked into Souri's deep eyes, and 
asked softly: 

"For love?" 


Souri dropped her eyes to the floor, but her ques- 
tioner, who by this time had put an arm around her, 
received no reply. 

"Come," she said, "let us not torture each other. 
T see we both have our secrets." 

She led the way to the dinner room, where the gen- 
eral and his staff were standing waiting for the two 
women. The party were joined by Farmer Slack 
and Jakey, and all sat down at a signal from the 

It was a singular mixture of people about the board. 
All were Confederates except the Slacks, and their 
Union sentiments were soon discerned. In a mo- 
ment the general and his staff grew reserved. Not so 
Miss Baggs. Seeing that Souri, with her natural sen- 
sitiveness, felt the change, she treated her with far 
more attention than before. 

"Never mind, my dear," she said sympathetically, 
looking reproachfully at an officer who referred slight- 
ingly to the "Union rufifians" of East Tennessee. 
"We were all Federal once, and nobody knows but 
we may have to be again. The country is large 
enough for all. We are engaged in settling the mat- 
ter, and have no time for recriminations. All we have 
to do is to keep our wits and strike hard. They say 
all's fair in love and in war." 

"Which air Rats?" asked Jakey, looking up at her 
with a pair of little black eyes that glistened with — 
she could not tell what. If forced to express it she 
would have used some such paradoxical expression as 
"glistened with stupidity." 


"What do you mean, you enfant terrible V she 
asked, slightly coloring. 

"Is Rats love or war?" 

"Who's Rats?" asked the general. 

"He means Corporal Ratigan, general, a splendid 
specimen of a young Irishman, whom I was obliged to 
hoodwink this morning in the Yankee camp. I ad- 
mire the Irish ; they are so ingenuous. But we all 
admire those unlike ourselves." 

"What's hoodwinken?" asked Jakey. 

"Well, I was obliged to appear pleased with him." 

"Looken at him outen yer eyes that-a-way?" 

"Come, come, you little fiend, if you say another 
.word, I'll turn you over to the general to be dealt wit'n 
summarily for interfering with Government agents." 
She laughed, but there was a lack of heartiness. 
Evidently Jakey had touched some chord that twanged 


A guerrilla's home. 

" A DISPATCH for you, general." 
l\ An aid-de-canip entered, followed by a tall, 
bronzed Confederate cavalryman with very muddy 
boots, and a Southern sombrero on his head. In his 
hand he carried a sealed envelope, on the left-hand 
corner of which was printed "Official Business." 

"Why not bring it yourself?" asked the general, 
evidently put out at being interrupted at dinner. 

"The messenger says that he was instructed to 
deliver it to no one but yourself. It is from general 

The man stalked in, his accouterments rattling as 
he did so, and removing his hat, handed the general 
the communication. He opened it, and seeing that it 
was in cipher, handed it to a member of his staff who 
possessed the key, and directed him to unravel it. It 
read as follows: 

Headquarters Army of Tennessee, 

June 27, 1862. 

To General , Commanding Cavalry on extreme 

Mir rrwec Irddrx mexrr Izi krxn m nbpy 
mfsfhse ut tixwrax dari sm mirwc gb igjq 




vvini kltvq gs Ijssga mikkingmfy fc Ivdzvkwvgc. 
Egzi jwpxy tx bagw.* 

Braxton Bragg, Covid'g. 

Scarcely had the general given the dispatch over for 
interpretation when another from the same source, 
which had come by telegraph, was handed him also, 
evidently an inextricable jumble of letters. This too 
was taken up by the cipher officer. In the course of 
half an hour he handed interpretations of both to his 
chief. The first read as follows : 

The enemy having taken the gaps I will abandon 

* To decipher this dispatch take as key words "Tennessee 
River." Run the eye down the column at the top of which is the 
first letter of the key-term till the first letter of the dispatch to be 
deciphered is reached. To the left in the column will be found 
the first letter of the interpretation. Thus : 

n e s s e 


rrwec 1 rddrx 

m under t at left of tabl 

1 " e " 

r " n " " 


This process is repeated to the end of the dispatch. This code 


my present line. Be ready to form rear guard to 
troops retreating by University. Move south at once. 

Here is the second: 

Enemy's telegram in cipher received Cannot 
Miss Baggs secure information of the enemy's inten- 
tions as to following this army across the Tennessee? 
Such information would enable us to be prepared if 
he attacks in concentrated form or cut him up in de- 
tail if he divides. 

The general gave the two messages a few minutes* 

was used by the Confederates during most of the period of 

the war. 


26252423222120191817161514131211109 87654321 

labcd ef gh i j kl mnopqr s t uvwxyz 

sbcde fg hi jk Imnopqrs t iivwxyza 

3cde fgh i jk Imn opqrs t uvwxyzab 

4defghi jk Imnopqrs t uvwxyzabc 

5efgh i j klmnopqrs tuvwxyzabcd 

6fgh i j k Imnopqr s tuvwxyzabcde 

7ghi jklmnopqrstuvwxyzabcdef 


91 jk Imnopqr s tuvwxyzabcd efgh 

10 jk Imnopqrs tuvwxyzabcde fghi 

iiklmnopqrs tuvwxyzabcde fgh ij 

izlmnopqr s t uvwxyzabcde fgh i jk 

13 m n o p q r s t u V w X y z a b c d e f g h i j k 1 

i4nopqr s t uvwxyza bcde fgh i j k Im 

I50pqrs tuvwxyzabcdefgh i jklmn 

i6pqrs tuvwxyzabcdefgh i j k Imno 



19 s tuvwxyzabcdefgh i j klmnopqr 

2otuvwxyzabcdefghi j klmnopqrs 

2iuvwxyzabcdefghi jklmnopqrst 

22vwxyzabcdefghi jklmnopqrs tu 

23wxyzabcdefghi jklmnopqrs tuv 

24xyzabcde f ghi j k Imnopqr s t uvw 

25 yzabcdefghijk Imnopqrs t 11 vwx 

26zabcde fghi j k Imnopqr s tuvwx y 


consideration, and then dismissing the aid who had 
interpreted them, directed him to inform Miss Baggs 
that he would like to see her. 

When she entered the general handed her the inter- 
preted copies of the two dispatches. 

"Here is a more important work for you than any 
you have yet attempted," he said. 

She read both the dispatches and then thought a 
few minutes. 

"I am ready to undertake it, general," she said, 
"but without much hope of success. I must first suc- 
ceed in taking off a message in which the plan of the 
Yankees is given, or hinted at so clearly as to be 
inferred, and then it must be interpreted, for it will 
surely be in cipher." 

"If you could succeed in both you would insure us 
victory in the west, and that would be half the battle 
to the cause." 

"I will undertake it." 

"You will be exposed to a frightful danger." 

"You know, general, that I have devoted my life to 
this work. I consider that as already sacrificed." 

"We move front here at once, as you see by the 
order just received." 

"I will go with you a part of the way and watch an 
opportunity to slip back behind the Union lines." 

With that Miss Baggs went out and the general 
began his preparations to cover the retreat of the right 
of the Confederate army. 

No further attention was paid to Farmer Slack and 


his family. Evidently there was business of greater 
importance on hand. They went out on to the door- 
step, where they stood wondering what was going on 
about them. Everyone was stirring. An orderlx 
dashed up to the door leading an ofificer's horse 
saddled and bridled. An aid ran out of the house, 
and mounting in hot haste rode away. A man from 
an upper window called out to him: 

"What's up?" 

"They've secured the gaps." 


"Liberty and Hoover's. All of 'em." 

"Well, what of it?" 

"What of it? It means retreat." And before the 
last word was spoken he was out of sight. 

In a few minutes a bugle was heard. Its tones had 
scarcely died away before the camp was alive with 
men preparing to move. 

The farmer determined to get his children into the 
wagon as soon as possible. He had been given his 
pass, which for the present at least was likely to be of 
little use, as he would simply follow the army. The 
party lost no time in getting to the wagon and into it, 
and drove down the road. But they were too late. 
The way was choked with horsemen and wagons and 
they were soon brought to a halt. The general 
dashed past with his staff, and who should be by his 
side, her striped dress covered with a gray riding 
skirt, a sombrero on her head, with a jaunty cock's 
feather encircling its crown, but Miss Baggs. Seeing 
the farmer's wagon waiting by the roadside, she 


reined in "Bobby Lee" beside Souri and took her 

"Good-by, my dear. I trust that your innocent 
heart will not have to suffer more than the rest of us 
during the continuance of this fearful struggle. You 
know we are all being tried in a fiery furnace. We'll 
meet again ; I know it. If you ever need any help or 
protection when our army is near, hunt up Betsy 

"Whar's th' chicken coop?" called Jakey, as she 
rode away. 

"What chicken coop?" 

"Th' one on wheels." 

"Oh ! The buggy," she said, smiling. "I left that 
for the Yankees to pick up when they come along." 

"Rats '11 be ridin' inter it, I reckon." 

"If he can find it, he's welcome to it," and with a 
laugh she dashed after the rest. 

Farmer Slack only succeeded in getting a few miles 
on the way before nightfall, then coming to a small 
village he made up his mind that it would be better to 
sleep there than attempt to go on through a country 
being abandoned by one force to be immediately 
occupied by another. He knew well the crowded 
condition of the roads, and the perils of night travel. 
*So singling out a house beside the road, which was the 
main street of the place, and seeing a woman standing 
in the door, he asked if she would give him and his 
party a night's lodging. 

"Reckon I kin keep you'uns, but hain't got no 
stablen fo' th' critters." 

44 Chick A ma ugA . 

"Oh, I kin find a place fo' them'uns," said Slack, 
and handing out his daughter she went into the house 
with Jakey, while the farmer drove otf to find shelter 
for the horses. Jakey wished to go with him, but his 
father bade him stay with Souri. 

The woman of the house was depressed. She was 
not strong, and the continued successive occupation 
of the country, by Union and Confederate troops, for 
more than a year, had completely worn her out. 

And now another shifting was at hand. At first she 
had spoken her sentiments freely — they were with the 
Confederacy — but lately she had come to endeavor- 
ing to find out the sentiments of strangers before 
betraying her own. Wondering whether she was 
harboring Unionists or Secessionists, she began to 
question Jakey. 

"Reckon you'uns live nigh 'bout hyar, don't y', 

*'Nigh onter th' Sequach." 

"Let me fill that kettle for you," said Souri, seeing 
the woman about to take up a wooden bucket she was 
scarcely able to lift. The woman suffered her, and 
went on making inquiries of Jakey. 

"Thur mixed over thar; some's Union 'n some's 
Secesh. Which air yer paw?" 

"Wal, I ben ter skule a year 'n paw he mought 'a* 
changed sence 1 went away." 

"Don't say 'mought,' Jakey dear," said Souri. 

The woman looked at Jakey inquiringly. 

"V couldn't 'a* larned much at- skule, ef y' reckon 
a man's goen ter change sides in this hyar fight. Th' 


git wusser 'n wusser. Still, ef ye'd a ben hyar, ye'd 
a larned thet. Reckon y' ben no'th to skule." 

"We have been north, in Ohio," said Souri, as she 
put the kettle on the stove. 

The mistress of the house was entirely alone save 
for her children, who were all small. She managed to 
get up a fair supper for her guests — though Souri did 
most of the work in preparing it. Notwithstanding 
the soldiers had drained everything visible in the 
house, the larder was by no means depleted. If peo- 
ple who live for a long time in a country overrun by 
troops don't learn to keep a bite for a hungry day 
concealed in a safe place, they are not remarkable for 
brightness. At any rate, the hostess suddenly ap- 
peared in the kitchen with a good bit of bacon, which 
seemed to come from the sky. In a few minutes it 
was frying in a skillet, and Souri took some coffee 
from her bag, which she began to grind. It was not 
long before all were around the table, tlie hostess 
drinking the first cup of real coffee she had drank in 
a year. 

By dark the Southern troops had vanished from the 
place, and the inhabitants began to dread the coming 
of another army. At nine o'clock all was quiet and 
the denizens of the house in which the Slacks rested 
were in bed. There were four rooms. One was 
given to Souri, one to Farmer Slack and Jakey, a 
third being occupied by the woman and her children. 
The fourth was parlor and kitchen combined. 

There is something dismal in a country place on the 
first night after the departure of an army, whether 


they be friends or foes. While it is present there is 
some feeling of protection. Ofificers are there to 
restrain lawlessness. But upon their departure the 
country is left in a rear more to be dreaded than the 
presence of soldiers. At the front there is no lawless- 
ness, unless it be the lawlessness which exists between 
armed enemies. All is at the highest possible ten- 
sion. Two thin lines of men hold all about them at 
the muzzles of gleaming rifles. Behind this line is the 
main force, in the midst of which the generals govern 
with autocratic military authority. But in the wake 
of an army comes a flow of refuse as in the channel of 
a river suddenly cleared in logging time. No one 
commands. There is either confusion or nothing; 
and in the South during the Civil War the rear was 
infested by the land pirates, the dreaded guerrillas, 
who respected neither man, woman, nor child, and 
whom no man respected. 

It was midnight at the little frame house where slept 
the Slack family. Farmer Slack was awakened by a 
pounding at the front door. Then he heard the 
woman by whom they were sheltered get up, and 
going to the door let someone in. The partition was 
thin and every word that was said could be plainly 

"Lordy, Ben, whar did y' come from?" asked the 


"Whar y' goen ter?" 

"Up inter the mountings." 

"What fur?" 


"Ter lay low till the armies move on south. Then 
we'uns 're goen ter harig in the tailens of the Yanks. 
Thur's better feedin' than thur is behind Confeder- 

"0 Ben, I wish you'd stop this business. Go 'n 
jine one o' the armies, I don't keer which; only stop 
this kind o* work." 

"Polly, you know I've been driv to 't. What have 
they left us? Nothin' but this house. Ef I didn't 
rake among the refuse that the Yankees leave behind 
'em whar w'd you 'n th' children be?" 

"But why air y' leaven now, Ben? What does 't all 
mean, the men goen south? Hain't th' goen ter fight 
at TuUyhomy?" 

"Ther gitten outen Tullyhomy this very minute." 

"How d'ye know?" 

"I kem from thar this afternoon. The trains were 
goen outen the place loaded with supplies. What's 
them things doen thar?" 

He pointed to some of the belongings of the Slack 
family. The farmer could hear the woman caution 
her husband to speak low; but by that time Slack's 
ear was at a crack. 

"Ther's a family hyar stayen all night," she whis- 

"Any critters?" 

"Two; but I don't want y' ter take 'em, Ben, 
It's onnateral. Thur's a sweet young gal ez helped 
me git supper, 'n I wouldn't hev nothin' happen to 
her fur the world." 

"I won't take thur critters tel after y' git me some- 


p'n ter eat. Come, be lively, my dear, I hevn't hed 
a squar meal 'n two days." 

"Whar's the gang?" 

"I left 'em a mile t'other side o' th' town. We got 
ter git inter th' mountings afore th' Federals come 
along. Whar air the young'uns?" 

"In thar." 

The farmer could see the man go into a room into 
which the candle from the one adjoining cast a dim 
light. The father bent over the sleeping little ones. 
He said not a word, but Slack could see upon his face 
what he would say : 

"My home is broken up. I am a vagabond — a 
wreck. If caught by either side, I would be sent out 
under care of a file of soldiers, told to run for my life 
and be shot down. These innocent children must 
suffer with the rest. They will grow up to point to a 
father who, from an honest man, became a guenilhi. 
My wife is breaking down and will not last long. If 
I live to the close of the struggle I shall doubtless 
come back to a heap of ashes where this house stands. 
For when they learn to whom it belongs they will 
burn it." 

The man put his lean face down beside the round, 
warm cheek of a child and groaned. 

"Jakey!" whispered Farmer Slack. 

Jakey awakened, but could not make it known, 
because his father had clapped his hand over his 

"Be still, my boy, till I git yer clothes. Don't yer 
make no sound fo' yer life; thur's guerrillas in th' 


The farmer got Jakey's clothes and his own. They 
put them on, using all the caution possible. Then 
the farmer took his son's hand and led him on tiptoe 
to the open window. Once there he took him up in 
his arms and, passing him through it, dropped him on 
the ground a few feet below. Then Slack got through 
himself and dropped beside Jakey. 

"Now for the stable, my son." 

Going across some vacant lots they reached the 
stable and took out both the horses. 

"Jake," said the father, "I'm goen to the head- 
quarters of the Federals. I want yer to stay 'n take 
keer o' yer sister." 

"Souri don't need no one ter take keer o' her." 

The farmer went back into the stable, leaving 
Jakey to hold the horses, and brought out a saddle 
and bridle. 

"Wal, Jake," he said presently, "she's a gal 'n may 
need y'." 

"What yer goen fo'?" 

"T' tell 'em the Southern men air gitten outen 
Tullyhomy. 'T may make a lot o' differ ter th' 

"Why can't / go 'n do thet?" 

The farmer made no reply; he went on equipping 
the horse for a ride; but he was thinking. After all, 
wouldn't a boy have a better chance to get through 
than a man. He had great confidence in Jakey's 
abilities in this direction, for they had been tested 
long before, nearer the beginning of the war. Then 
he disliked to leave his daughter without protection in 
a lawless territory. 


"Jake," he asked at last, "do y' think y' c'd do 't?" 

' 'Reckon." 

"I kin put y' on th' road 't Manchester. Thar or 
before y' git thar y'U find Yankees. But yer powerful 
little fo' sichajob." And the farmer looked at his 
son undecidedly. 

"Do y' think I'm a babby ter be rocked in a 

"No, Jakey; yer a 'markable little chap. Thur's 
not 'nother boy o' your age livin' I'd trust to carry 
this message. I reckon I'll let y' try it." 

Slack took Jakey up in his arms and sat him on the 
horse. Then he shortened the stirrups till all the 
holes in the straps were exhausted, when he cut new 
ones, making the length a proper one for Jakey's little 

"Now, Jake," said his father, in a tone that bespoke 
a desire to put resolution into himself and the boy at 
the same time, "tell th' Federal general that a guerrilla 
kem to the house whar we war sleepen, and tole his 
wife thet the Southern men air gitten outen Tully- 
homy. He kem from thar this afternoon. 'N, my 
boy, ez I ofen tole y' afore, remember yer a Unioner, 
'n hain't afraid o' nothin'. Thar's th' road." 

"Tom, you git. " 



HAD not Jakey Slack possessed a stout heart he 
would have quailed at pushing out in the mid- 
dle of a dark night on a road of which he had no 
knowledge, and possessing the disadvantage of being 
occupied by neither Union nor Confederate troops. 
Between the rain and the artillery and the wagons, 
the roads were all cut to pieces. Water stood every- 
where, and often where the way was over a depression 
in the ground, it was necessary to pass through small 
lagoons. This, in the daytime, when one might keep 
the road by observing the fences — when there were 
any — would not have been so difficult, but overshad- 
owed by the great black wings of night there was 
absolutely no guide, save by feeling underfoot, or an 
occasional glimmer ahead indicating that the way lay 
through an opening in the forest. 

Tom floundered along at a very slow pace. Jakey 
found it not only difficult to keep him in the road, but 
impossible to keep out of mudholes when on it. Now 
Tom's fore legs would sink into a soft spot and again 
would splash into a deep rut; or one leg would be in 
the rut while the other was on the higher ground. 
Then he would flounder, while Jakey held on to the 


saddle with all his strength, to keep from being thrown 
off by Tom's writhings. All the while a drizzling rain 
was slowly working its way through Jakey's jacket to 
get at the skin. The boy tried to guide his horse for 
a while, but finally concluded that Tom was far better 
qualified to find his way than he was himself, and 
dropping the reins on the pommel of the saddle, 
turned his undivided attention to keeping his seat. 
Every now and then Tom would stop, and look about 
him, as much as to say: "Jakey, I don't like the looks 
o' things at all." But if Jakey understood him he 
made no comment on the remark. He had ulaced 
Tom in command and did not propose to interfere. 

Along the way there Avere signs of an occasional 
camp fire, which Jakey assumed doubtless warmed 
guerrillas. But Jakey was not so much afraid of guer- 
rillas as they were of him. At times when they would 
hear his horse's hoofs beating on the road or splash- 
ing through water, Jakey could see them trying to 
cover the embers, or kick out the fires with their boot 
heels. No one would ever suspect any save a troop 
of cavalry to be traveling that road at that time of 
night and through so much mud and water. Jnkey 
paid no attention to these marks of life by the way, 
but suffered Tom to grope through the darkness. 
True, he did not know but at any moment some bush- 
whacker, supposing him to be alone, would put a 
bullet through him in order to discover if he had any 
valuables about him, or more likely with a hope of 
becoming possessed of a good pair of boots — a neces- 
sary luxury in the South in those days — but the 


thought was no more terrifying than a tree looming 
specter-like beside the road. It was too dark to dis- 
tinguish the true character of any object, and all took 
on fantastic shapes, especially when touched by the 
tints laid on by Jakey's imagination. 

Just before morning the darkness grew thicker. 
Tom had for several miles proved himself worthy of 
the confidence reposed in him and had kept the road, 
but all of a sudden he brought up against a snake 

Jakey was discouraged. He knew that Tom had 
lost the road, and as for himself, he did not feel com- 
petent to find it again. Bringing the horse sideways 
to the fence he slid off onto the top rail and then 
down onto the ground. Holding the reins and lead- 
ing Tom, — for he dared not leave him lest he might 
not find him again, — the boy groped around for a while 
looking for the road. It was of no use. Go where 
he would there were only stumps and grass, every 
hollow being filled with water. 

He thought of lying down in a fence corner to sleep 
till morning. But he did not like to do this, for fear 
that, once asleep, he would not wake up till late the next 
day; and then the Southern army might be away from 
TuUahoma with all its stores, and perhaps there were 
a great many other advantages they would gain that 
caused Jakey — being a good Union boy — to wince, 
though he could not name them. But there seemed 
no alternative; it could not be more than two hours 
before daylight would show him the road, and he 
reluctantly concluded to go into bivouac. As he was 

54 chIckamaVga. 

looking for a good, broad, flat rail to stretch himself 
on, Tom put his nose over his shoulder affectionately 
and rested it there. Never before had Jakey felt so 
deeply any interchange of sympathy with a dumb 

"Tom, ole critter," he said, putting his arms about 
the horse's neck, "this air lonesome." 

And Tom seemed to respond as plainly as if the 
words were spoken : 

"Jakey, you bet." 

Maybe Tom had an object in view more important 
th?.n an offer of sympathy. Maybe he had something 
to communicate. At any rate, as Jakey stood with 
his arms around the lowered neck and looking over it, 
he espied a light. 

"Golly, Tom!" he exclaimed, "I reckon y' sor 't." 

In a moment he had climbed the fence and had 
regained his place in the saddle. Then pointing the 
horse's head directly for the light with a "Git up, 
Tom," rider and horse were soon away in the direc- 
tion of its appearance. 

Suddenly there was an ominous click, whicli in the 
stillness of the night sounded with all the distinctness 
of the cocking of a gun. 

"Who comt dare?" 

"Mister, can y' put me onto the road?" 

"Who you vas?" 

"I'm a boy, I air." 

"Vat you vant,''" 

"I want 't go to Manchester." 

"Vat for?" 


Jakey thought a moment before replying. The 
question occurred to him, was this surely a Union 
picket. No Confederate would be likely to challenge 
with a German accent. 

"I've got some information for Mister Rose — 
Rose — what's his name." 

"Sheneral Rosecrans?" 


The picket being convinced from Jakey's voice that 
he was a child, called out: "Comt up here." 

Jakey jogged Tom, and endeavored to find the 
man, but he was ensconced behind a little runnel in a 
clump of trees, and Jakey couldn't get at him. 

"Vy you not comt nearer?" asked the picket 

"Why hain't I got cat's eyes?" replied Jakey. 
"Oh, thar y' air, air y'? Nobody hain't goen ter 
shoot 'thout finden y', 'n nobody hain't goen ter find 
y' 'cept somebody what's used ter hunten in th' 

"Comt along mit me, young vellar." 

The picket put Jakey on the road, which was not a 
hundred yards away, and led him to the light he had 
seen. It proved to be a smoldering fire of a picket 
post. A lieutenant was there and a dozen men, some 
sitting on the roots of trees, leaning against the trunks, 
or against stumps dozing, while others huddled about 
the fire, which was dying for want of fuel, since all the 
dead wood lying about had been consumed. 

"Vat you haf dare?" asked the lieutenant, seeing 
the picket come in, followed by Jakey seated on Tom 


"You vasn't trifen in py a poy like dot, vas you?" 
asked a man lying on his stomach by the fire. 

"I want to go to headquarters," said Jakey. 

"Vat for?" 

Jakey went through the explanation he had made 
to the picket. 

"Corporal," said the lieutenant, "take him to de 
guard tent and durn him ofer. " 

Jakey was not aware what being turned over meant, 
but he followed the corporal without question. Had 
he been familiar with soldiers' expressions he would 
have known that everything a soldier is responsible 
for must be turned over to someone else before his 
responsibility ceases. The boy was led for more than 
a mile to a cavalry camp. By this time there was a 
glimmer of coming day, and objects were gradually 
becoming visible. As they reached the camp the 
"officer of the day" was starting out to ride along the 
picket line. Seeing Jakey led in, he rode up to him 
and began a fire of questions. All these troops were 
Germans, and everyone spoke with the German pro- 
nunciation. Jakey waited till the officer and the sen- 
try had exhausted the vocabulary of German-English 
words, and then informed the former that he had some 
very important information of the enemy's move- 
ments, that he wished to deliver to the proper person. 

"Vat is it?" 

"I'll only give it t' th' general." 

"Vat sheneral?" 

"Any general what ought ter know 't." 

"Vill a colonel vat acts as prigatier-sheneral do?" 



"All right. Corporal, dake him to prigade head- 

And the officer rode off to perform his morn- 
ing duty of a six or eight mile ride before 

Jakey was led over a stubble field which had not 
been planted since the previous season, and brought 
before a group of half a dozen tents, the headquarters 

of the colonel commanding the th cavalry brigade. 

The colonel had not yet risen. Jakey's conductor 
explained to the sentinel on post that the boy had 
important information, whereupon the sentinel shouted, 
loud enough to wake the whole army: "Corporal of 
the guard!" The summoned soldier came and it was 
explained to him that Jakey had important informa- 
tion. The corporal went off to fetch the officer of the 

"What you want, sonny?" asked that person when 
he arrived, buttoning a coat he had just put on. 

"I don't want nothin'." 

"Oh, you don't. I thought you did." 

"Reckon I got somep'n you'uns want, but I'm git- 
ten tired answeren questions 'bout 't," 

"Well, what is it, my little man?" 

"I ain't no little man. I'm a boy." 

"Can't you tell me what you have for us?" asked 
the officer, smiling. 

"Can't tell nobody but somebody big." 

"I don't know anybody bigger than our chief of 
Staff about here, I'll call him," 


So the chief of staff was called up and informed 
that Jakey had information of the enemy. 

By this time Jakey began to fear that by the time 
he could get in his information to the commander of 
the army, General Bragg would be across the Ten- 
nessee River, but he was doing his duty as best he 
could, so he waited, trusting that along this line of red 
tape he would at last find some end. He had reached 
that point. The chief of staff called up the colonel 
commanding, who suddenly appeared at the tent door 
in a pair of trousers and a woolen shirt. 

It was evident from the moment the colonel espied 
Jakey sitting on old Tom in front of the tent, and 
Jakey espied the slender figure of the colonel with his 
blue eyes and light hair, that they had met before. 
Not only that they had met, but that they must have 
been united by some cord of great durability. There 
were two exclamations like pistol shots. 

"Big brother!" from Jakey. 

"Little brother!" from the colonel. 

Colonel Mark Maynard strode up to the boy, took 
him in his arms, and Jakey might have as well been in 
the embrace of a bear for a time, while not a word was 
spoken. Then there was a fusillade of questions and 
answers, after which the colonel took Jakey into his 
tent and sat him on his own camp cot. Jakey lost no 
time in giving a brief account of his trip from school, 
how he had slept at the guerrilla's house, and how his 
father had heard of the evacuation of Tullahoma. 

The colonel, throwing open the tent flap and seeing 
his chief of staff outside, called him in. 


"Captain," he said, "ride over to corps headquar- 
ters, and say that a boy has just come in, who is sent 
by his father to say that he slept last night at the 
house of a guerrilla, who told his wife, not knowing 
that he was overheard, that they are getting out of 
Tullahoma. Say that the information is perfectly 
reliable, as it has been brought by a Union boy who 
went with me on my most important mission when I 
was a scout, and rendered me, on that occasion, the 
most valuable service a human being can render an- 
other. Ride at once. Never mind the division com- 
mander. There's no time to spare for army etiquette. 

The captain saluted, and without waiting for his own 
horse to be saddled, mounted the horse of an orderly 
anJ dashed away. 



COLONEL MAYNARD was ordered to push for- 
ward down the road from Manchester toward Tul- 
lahoma in order to test the truth of Jakey Slack's 
information. Jakey begged permission to go with 
him, but the colonel told him that he liad better go 
back to his father and sister. Jakey argued that he 
could as well return from Tullahoma, if they should 
reach it, and if not, from any point where they might 
halt. The colonel at last consented, and as they rode 
off he remarked to the members of his staff, using the 
conventional military phrase for announcing a staff 
officer in orders, "Gentlemen, this is Jacob Slack, 
volunteer aid-de-camp to the colonel commanding 

the th cavalry brigade, and will be obeyed and 

respected as such." The announcement, couched in 
these terms, so delighted Jakey that he came well- 
nigh losing his balance and falling off old Tom's back 
and getting himself trampled on by the rest of the 
staff. But after the first flurry he made a most effi- 
cient aid-de-camp; that is, if riding close beside the 
colonel, and being always ready for an order which 
was never given, constitutes a good staff officer. 
And now began a ride in which the advancing force 


was spurred on by a curiosity to know what they were 
going to find. Would the place be evacuated, or 
would they suddenly be checked by a volley in their 
faces from a skirmish line. Starting at a trot, and 
finding no obstacle in the earlier part of the distance, 
they soon broke into a brisk canter. Several miles 
were passed without a sign of an enemy. Presently 
they came to a low lineal heaping of dirt and fence 
rails extending on either side of the road, thrown 
together evidently for the protection of men lying 
down for firing. They had been abandoned. A sec- 
ond line of defense was reached soon after, and then 
a third. As they drew on, these lines were built 
nearer together and grew more formidable. Their 
desertion of a skirmish line indicated that the enemy 
had fallen back from their main defenses. 

Emerging from a wood, the fortifications about the 
town of Tullahoma suddenly appeared before them. 
Though it was plain now that they were not to be 
defended, the advancing force half expected to see a 
cloud of smoke burst from them. But they were 
silent and impotent, without troops to man them. 

Dashing from the edge of the wood Colonel May- 
nard, followed by Jakey and the rest of the staff, rode 
over the intervening space and in a few minutes were 
climbing the slanting sides of the earthworks. A 
point had been gained which, without the previous 
maneuvers, would have cost thousands of lives. Even 
Jakey Slack, who can hardly be called an educated 
soldier, experienced a certain comfort on riding unop- 
posed over breastworks so formidable. Once within 


them he got off his horse, and seeing a big siege gun 
from under which the carriage had been burned, 
climbed onto it and sat straddle, waving his hat and 
cheering as vociferously as if the victory had been 
exclusively due to his own genius. 

His hilarity was suddenly quenched by the colonel, 
who, riding up to him, told him that the brigade was 
ordered forward in pursuit of the retreating enemy, 
and that he must go back to his father and sister. 
Jakey begged hard to go on, but his appeal was un- 
availing. His brief dignity must be resigned ; from 
aid-de-camp on the staff of the colonel commanding 

the th brigade "to be obeyed and respected as 

such," he must be reduced to the level of a small boy. 

The colonel gave him a hug before parting, and told 
him that he would send a trooper with him to see him 
safely on his way. Had Jakey been a soldier, his 
action on this occasion would have been considered 
by any court-martial rank mutiny. 

"D'y think I hain't nobody nohow? Didn't I go 
with y' last summer ter Chattanooga when y' war 
nuthen but a scout? 'N didn't I stay in jail with y'? 
And now yer talken 'bout senden a sojer with me fo' 
a nurse." 

"All right, Jakey; go it alone, if you prefer it." 

The colonel rode away and Jakey, shorn of the 
plumage he had worn so becomingly for a whole half 
day, proceeded on his return journey. He first in- 
quired the most direct route to Hillsboro, and having 
been directed to it he set off at a brisk trot. He had 
eaten nothing since early morning and was ravenously 


hungry. At a farmhouse by the way he secured a 
meal for himself and a good feed for Tom. Then the 
old woman who furnished it gave him a kiss and 
started him again on his journey. 

Jakey had not gone far before he came to a road 
connecting Hillsboro with the MacMinnville branch 
of the railroad at a place called Concord. The road 
on which he was traveling forked into the other at an 
acute angle, the two running nearly parallel tor a 
short distance. Looking ahead toward the fork, he 
saw a rig which struck him at once as being astonish- 
ingly familiar. It was none other than the rawboned 
horse and paint-bereft buggy he had seen several 
times before. As it drew near Jakey could see some- 
one in the buggy, and he was not long in recognizing 
the peculiar dress of Miss Betsy Baggs. 

"Hello, Miss Baggs, whar y' goen at?" he called. 

Never a word spoke Miss Baggs. She sat bolt up- 
right in her buggy, regarding the boy fixedly as 
"Bobby Lee" triangulated onward. As she passed 
she turned her head slowly, keeping her spectacles on 
Jakey with an unearthly stare. There is something 
superstitious in all human beings, and epecially in 
boys. Something like a shiver ran down Jakey's back 
at sight of this singular person, who knew him per- 
fectly, yet who passed him, her head turning mechan- 
ically, without uttering a word. For a moment he was 
tempted to believe that Miss Baggs had perished, and 
this was her ghost going to seek rest in some other 
land than war-scarred Tennessee. But this feeling 
was momentary. Throwing it off he shouted: 


"Shell I give yer love t' Rats when I see him?" 

If Miss Baggs was trying to make the boy believe 
he was mistaken, or that he saw her disembodied 
spirit, her effort failed signally at this point. A peal of 
suppressed laughter came back on the breeze to Jakey, 
Looking after her he saw the back of the buggy, from 
which streamed the tatters of the top, and under it 
"Bob Lee's" four legs mingled in inextricable confu- 
sion, doing some of their best work. 

"She'uns hain't bent on no good," said Jakey to 
himself as he gave Tom a jog, "reckon she's up ter 

Jakey rode on musing upon Miss Baggs. He had 
noticed her kind treatment of his sister, and as Jakey 
was disposed to regard Souri the most important per- 
son on earth after Colonel Maynard, Miss Baggs had 
thus found her way into that youthful something or 
other which for want of a better name may be called 
Jakey's heart. His remark was made with great seri- 
ousness. Jakey felt that it was his duty, as a Union 
sympathizer, to put someone on Miss Baggs's track. 
"She mought be worken fo' the Confederates," he 
mused, " 'n then agin she moughtn't." The latter 
view was most agreeable to him, because he liked Miss 
Baggs and would grieve to see any harm come to 

While he was jogging along turning the matter over 
in his mind, he saw several horsemen in blue and yel- 
low come tearing down the road. They reined in 
when they came up with him and opened a volley of 


"Say, boy, did you see a woman with a striped 
dress and goggles go by?" 

'"N a long-legged wind-busted critter?" 


" 'N an ole rattlin' buggy?" 


"What d'y want with her?" 

"Never mind that. Have you seen her?" 

"Wal, never mind whether I have or not. Git up, 
Tom ! ' ' 

This brought the questioner to terms, 

"Are you a Confederate boy?" 

"Don't I live in Tennessee?" 

"I suppose that means you are Confederate. 
We've no time to lose. The woman in that buggy is 

— is " he was conjuring up a story to deceive the 

stupid-looking boy before him and get the required 
information, but he was not good at invention. 
Jakey came to the rescue. 

' 'Wanted by you'uns general or colonel or somep'n?" 


"Fo' ter keep her outen danger 'coz she's like 'nuff 
to run inter a guerrilla camp?" 

The man looked wonderingly at the boy, who was 
making a story for him unasked. 

"Y-e-s," he replied, uncertain what to say. 

"Wal, she's gone along thar. When y' git ter th' 
fork 'n th' road take th' left fork." 

"All right. Thanks, my little man," and the party 
galloped away, to take the wrong road on reaching 
the fork. 


Jakey pursued his course meditatively. 

"Reckon that warn't me done thet. T must 'a' 
ben some'un else. 1 air a Union boy, 1 air. 
She'uns's Confederate. Like 'nuff some'un got 
s'picion of her. Reckon I can't be Union ef I 
helped her out. Wal, she likes Souri anyway. 
Reckon she won't do no harm." 

Notwithstanding the view taken at the close of 
Jakey's soliloquy he felt very much dissatisfied with 
himself. He rode on thoughtfully, wondering what 
Colonel Maynard would say if he should know what 
he had done. He soon met a soldier on a lame 
horse. Jakey inferred that he belonged to the party 
ahead but had been obliged to drop out of the chase. 

"Say, mister," called the boy, "what them'uns 
chasen thet woman in the buggy fo'?" 

"Did you pass her?" 


"Put 'em on the track?" 


"She tried to slip through the lines on a forged 
pass. The guard was suspicious and took the pass 
to headquarters (after letting her go through, like a 
fool), when the trick was discovered." 

"Wal, reckon they'll ketch her," and Jakey rode on. 

Meanwhile the father and sister awaited Jakey's 
reappearance anxiously. Both had great confidence 
in his ability to make his way anywhere, but Jakey 
was pretty younj; to be riding about in a strange 
country in such turbulent times, and his sister, on 
learning his mission from her father, never ceased to 


be troubled about him during his absence. Neither 
Mr. Slack nor Souri said anything to the woman with 
whom they lodged as to the real cause of Jakey's 
absence. Slack remarked at breakfast that he thought 
he heard someone knocking during the night, but was 
very tired and fell asleep again without paying any 
attention to it. Of course Jakey's absence was 
noticed, and the farmer felt it necessary to invent 
some excuse to account for it. 

"I don't know what can hev become o' Jake," he 
said. "Last night I hearn the critters stampen 'n 
stampen 'n maken a fuss, 'n' I tole Jake ter go 'n see 
what was th' matter. He didn't come back no mo'." 

As the dusk of the evening was coming on Tom 
was seen far down the street advancing at a jog trot, 
and on him Jakey, bobbing up and down, his elbows 
stuck out on each side, and his little legs at an obtuse 
angle with the rest of his body. As he approached, 
his father scanned his face to learn whether he had 
succeeded. Jakey, unmindful of the important serv- 
ice he had rendered the Union cause in carrying the 
information he had taken, was at the time absorbed 
with his recent dignity as volunteer aid-de-camp. 
The consequence was that his countenance shone 
with a proud look that convinced his father that he 
had not failed. Riding up to the little porch in front 
of the house, Jakey slid down from Tom's high back 
with as much dignity as he could command on de- 
scending from such a height. The whole household, 
including the children, were there to receive him, and 
Jakey was about to give them an account of how he 


had served on Colonel Maynard's staff when he 
caught his father's eye. 

"You, Jake," said Mr. Slack, "didn't 1 send y' 
out ter th' barn ter look arter the critters last night, 'n 
now yer been ridin' all over, nobody knows whar. 
Whar y' ben?" 

"Wal," said Jakey, taking his cue readily, "I 
foun' Tom loose, 'n I follered him all over the U'nhed 

"I'm glad y' got him," replied the father 'Go in 
'n git yer supper," 



IT was the middle of August before the different 
columns of the Army of the Cumberland began to 
cross the mountains between it and Chattanooga in 
pursuit of the Confederates, who had withdrawn to 
that place and there intrenched themselves. Mean- 
while the Slack family had arrived at their home, near 
Jasper, in the Sequatchee Valley. Much to Souri's 
surprise everything about the place looked uncouth. 
When she left it a year before it was all she had ever 
known. A ten months' residence in the North, sur- 
rounded by every comfort, associating with the daugh- 
ters of refined people, had made a great change in her. 
Now the furniture appeared dilapidated, the rag car- 
pets rough; indeed there was a disappointment about 
"sweet home" that she had not expected. Neverthe- 
less she did not sit down and repine over it. She had 
no means of procuring anything better, but she found 
that she could do a great deal of patching. With 
considerable forethought she had brought some cheap 
material of different kinds with her from the North, 
and this she used to the best advantage. She made 
neat valances for the beds, cushions for her mother's 
rocking chair, scarfs for tlie bureaus; in fact with 



very little she made quite a revolution in the 

Her great anxiety was her brother. Jakey had 
attended well to his studies while at school, but his 
teachers had found it impossible to change his meth- 
ods of expressing himself. As soon as he reached 
Tennessee he began to relapse into the state of semi- 
barbarism in which he had lived before the coming of 
his advantages. Souri knew that there was no hope 
for improvement in her father and mother. Instead 
of troubling them when their ways of acting and 
speaking shocked her, she refrained from comment, 
but when Jakey dropped into his old ways she tried hard 
to check him. Besides she felt that it was necessary 
to keep a strict guard over herself, for she had noticed 
that when under any excitement, or when her feelings 
were deeply touched, she was apt to forget herself and 
be once more the "poor white" girl of former days. 

There was another cause of solicitude as to Jakey, 
It must be admitted, notwithstanding Jakey s good 
points and a certain original shrewdness there was 
about him, that he never w^as the same boy after his 
few hours of service on Colonel Maynard's staff. It 
was constantly "When I war Colonel Maynard's aid- 
der-camp," or "When the colonel 'n me rode into Tul- 
lyhomy," or "When I carried the news of the ;Yvacu- 
ation." Then he would strut about with his hands in 
his pockets, much to his father's amusement, and 
Souri 's dread that he would run away and join the 
Union army. But one day when he threatened to do 
so, Souri took him to task for it and made him prom- 


ise that he would not. This ended her anxiety, for 
Jakey would as soon have forgotten his military hon- 
ors as break a pledge to his sister. 

The Army of the Cumberland, in three corps 
d'arrnee commanded by Generals Thomas, McCook, 
and Crittenden, the whole under General Rosecrans, 
was now advancing by every possible route toward 
Chattanooga. One of the routes taken by the Union 
army lay through the Sequatchee Valley and directly 
past the Slacks* little farm. One evening Souri wa.^ 
leaning over the gate thoughtfully, when she saw sev- 
eral mounted men in blue, with yellow facings, come 
trotting down the road. They were the first blue 
coats to appear of the host that was coming. There 
is a certain jaunty air, a devil-may-care appearance, 
about a trooper who becomes used to being always 
on horseback. Each man and horse seemed the same 
animal. Their sabers clanked in unison, and they 
were chatting and laughing as if they had come to the 
South with only the most peaceful intentions. When 
they reached the gate where Souri stood, one of them, 
lifting his hat politely, asked: 

"Would ye mind me goen to the well for a little 

In the brilliant display that was revealed by the 
lifting of the man's hat Souri recognized a head she 
could never forget — the head of Corporal Ratigan. 

"Why," she said, "ain't you Corporal Ratigan?" 

"I am, me young lady, and if Oi'm not mistaken, 
ye're one o' the party that was goen through the lines 
one day a few weeks ago." 


Jakey at this moment came around the house in a 
fashion at which he had become very expert at school. 
This was turning handsprings sideways like a cart 
wheel. Seeing soldiers he suddenly remembered his 
dignity as former volunteer aid-de-camp, and straight- 
ening Lip, pulled his hat down over the back of his 
head and tried to look military. True, his hair was 
in his eyes, but his military training had only been 
for one morning and Jakey's hair was always in his 
eyes. Doubtless it would have required months of 
training from a drill sergeant to get it to growing any 
other way. Approaching the fence he climbed it, and 
sat with one leg on each side of it. 

"Do ye know me, me boy?" asked Ratigan. 

"Does I know one o' them signal lights on th' 

'*0 Jakey," sighed his sister. 

"Well, me lad," pursued the corporal, laughing. 
"Who am I?" 


"I see ye have a good memory. Rats. It's quare 
ye should have remembered that." And the corporal 
chuckled good-naturedly. 

"Mehheyou remember somis'un's name." 

"And who is that?" 

"Miss Baggs." 

"Certainly I do," said the corporal, somewhat 
startled and confused. 

"I sor her t'other day. " 

"Ye don't mean it?" 

"Reckon I do." 



"She war a trotten thet ole critter o' hern, goen 
No'th like shot from a squirrel gun." 

"Upon me word!" ejaculated the corporal, evi- 
dently much interested. 

"Reckon she war up to somep'n." 

"What makes ye think so?" And Ratigan changed 
his position in his saddle uneasily, 

"Wal. when we'uns met her " 

"O Jakey, please don't say we'uns," interrupted 

"Wal, when we met her outen the reach o' 
you'uns" (Souri gave a despairing look but said 
nothing), "she talked peart 'nuff 'n she knowed me 
too, but when she passed me on th' road t'other day, 
no'th o' th' Union army, she only stared at me through 
her goggle eyes 'n did'n say nothin' nohow." 

"And what do ye suppose that was for?" 

"Reckon she war in a hurry 'bout somep'n 'n didn' 
want ter stop 'n talk or nothen." 

"Did you speak to her?" 

"I asked her ef I c'd give her love to Rats when I 
sor him." 

Corporal Ratigan's Irish good nature triumphed 
over his desire to reach down and give the boy a cuff. 
Jakey's countenance was solemn as usual, and did not 
break into a smile in response to the corporal's em- 
barrassed laugh. He opened the gate and Ratigan 
rode into the yard, followed by his troopers. They 
refreshed themselves from a gourd which hung in the 
wellhouse; then filling their canteens they rode away. 


But Soiiri and Jakey were destined soon to meet 
one who vviis of far more consequence^ to both than 
Corporal Ratigan. The next morning, while Souri 
was setting the house to rights, she heard the beating 
of innumerable horses' hoofs. Going to the window 
and looking up the road, which stretched northward 
for a long distance, in full view she saw a column of 
cavalry approaching. There is something singular in 
the sight of a large body of troops marching through a 
quiet country used only to the plowman, the corn 
hoer, or the farmer lashing his ox team slowly along 
the road. Through long years of peace one is used 
only to seeing soldiers parading through the streets of 
cities, with crowds to admire, and friends waving 
handkerchiefs to tliem from windows. Such indeed 
were the scenes through which the Union troops dur- 
ing the Civil War passed at leaving for the seat of war. 
But once among the broad Southern plantations, in 
the moss-covered woods, or amid the silent hills, there 
was no one to gaze at them except the simple country 
people, who had never seen anything more gaudy than 
an occasional bright necktie, or bonnet feathers adorn- 
ing city people, and then only at rare intervals. Sud- 
denly Souri saw the road alive with a brilliant caval- 
cade. First came a mounted ofificer surrounded by 
subordinate officers and orderlies. Then the solid 
column, its officers and non-commissioned officers 
with shoulder straps and chevrons, the men sabered 
and pistoled and carbined, each man a miniature cit- 
adel in himself. Above the heads of all waved a line 
of bunting, from the stars and stripes near the center 


of each regiment to the more frequent guidon ; the 
staff of each resting on the stirrup of the man who 
bore it. 

Before the head of column had reached the house 
the whole Slack family were standing in the yard 
gaping. Being Unionists, their faces were wreathed 
in smiles. These were their own men, whom they 
had so long hoped for and prayed for to shield them 
from the terrorism of neighbors who differed with 
them in loyalty. No handkerchief was ever waved 
from city mansion at responsive smiling troopers with 
more zest than that with which Souri waved to the 
passing squadrons. And as for Jakey, he stood on 
the fence and flinging his hat in the air shouted him- 
self hoarse. 

Two regiments passed, though each seemed like an 
army, for cavalry occupies three or four times the 
space of infantry. Between the second and third 
regiments was a gap of a few hundred yards. In this 
rode an officer especially noticeable for his youth and 
manly beauty, attended by his staff and escort. On 
approaching the Slack cabin he motioned to these to 
go on; and wheeling his horse from the road, unat- 
tended, rode up to the party of lookers-on. Jakey, 
who was standing on the fence, gave a spring and was 
caught in his arms. 

"Aha, little brother, we meet again." 

But there were others to engage the speaker's 
attention. Dropping the boy to the ground, he dis- 
mounted and was soon warmly shaking all by the 


"Yer Mark Malone, I reckon," said Farmer Slack, 
"though y' don't look much like the common sojer ez 
kem 'long hyar a year ago and changed yer uniform 
fo' our Henery's store clothes." 

"Not Mark Malone — that was a fictitious name — 
but Mark Maynard. No. I'm not a private any 
longer; I command this brigade. And it's a splen- 
did body of men; I'm proud of it." 

When Colonel Maynard came to salute Souri there 
was an unspeakable interest, sympathy, even tender- 
ness in her expressive eyes. 

"Why, Souri, you're a woman; how you have 
improved !" 

A slight flush on her cheek showed the pleasure the 
words gave her. 

"Hain't I improved?" asked Jakey. 

"Improved? Certainly. Have you conquered 
your old habit of answering people with questions?" 

"Did I lick Johnny Oh, yes," suddenly recol- 
lecting himself. "I purty nigh got over thet." 

"So I perceive," said the colonel smiling. "You're 
a perfect paragon at expressing yourself." 

"Won't yer come in 'n set down?" asked Mrs. 

"Not now. If we remain long enough in this vicin- 
ity I'll ride over and make you a call. I am going to 
meet my wife, whom I have not seen for nearly a 
year. I expect to find her at her mother's plantation 
near Chattanooga. You remember how she hid me 
when my neck was in a halter on that very plantation ; 
how I came North in disguise with her; how I came 


here one night where I had left my horse and uniform 
and dashed away to the Union lines ; how she fol- 
lowed me and we were married by a chaplain. Well, 
I've never seen her since a week after our marriage, 
'Old Pap' is famous for not allowing women in camp, 
and he made no exception in Mrs. Maynard's case, 
except for one week's honeymoon in recognition of 
service rendered the cause." 

"And yer wife's gone back outer the plantation?" 
said Mrs. Slack. 

"She has. You see in June a recruit entered our 
family quarters in the shape of a ten-pounder boy. Be- 
fore that happened Mrs. Maynard went through the 
lines to join her mother, Mrs. Fain. As the youngster 
is not old enough to report to his father since his enlist- 
ment, I suppose his father will have to report to 

"Whar th' Confederates gone ter?" asked Slack. 

"To the other side of the Tennessee. They've 
escaped us once more. You see we maneuvered them 
out of Tullahoma, expecting to force them to fight us 
on open ground; but it rained every day of our ad- 
vance. This delayed us so (especially the artillery) 
that they were enabled to give us the slip." 

"I reckon Mrs. Maynard '11 be right glad to see 
you," remarked Souri feelingly. 

"I shall certainly be right glad to see her. And 
that must account for my leaving you so soon. I owe 
you all a great deal in this household, and now that 
our forces occupy the country, if you require anything 
let me know it. What can I do for you?" 


There was silence for a few moments, which was 
broken by Mrs. Slack. 

"Wal, now, colonel, d'ye know I hain't had a cup 
o' coffee fo' night onter a year." 

"You shall have some as soon as I can reach my 
commissary. Anything else?" 

Souri frowned even at the request of her mother, 
and no one named any other requirement. 

"Jakey," said the colonel, "you haven't forgotten 
how, when I went through here a year ago, I asked you 
to go with me on my way to Chattanooga to get infor- 
mation of the movements of the Confederate army?" 

"Hev I forgot when I war yer aidercamp? Oh, 
no, no — I hain't forgot." 

"Well, I hadn't much inducement to offer you then, 
unless the sharing of a prison may be called an induce- 
ment. Now if you will go along I'll promise you the 
best that Mrs. Maynard can provide at the plantation. 
Will you go?" 

"Will I? Course I will. Paw, can I hev Tom?" 

"Sartin, boy," and the farmer turned and went to 
the barn. 

"Won't you need a — a luncheon?" asked Souri, 
whose hesitation was an effort to avoid the word 
"snack"; the only name she had known for a cold 
bite before she went North to school. 

"Oh, no," said the colonel. "We shall ride di- 
rectly to the plantation ; we'll get plenty to eat when 
we arrive." 

Meanwhile Jakey had followed his father to the 
barn. Mrs. Slack stepped into the house to make up 


a bundle for the boy. Maynard and Souri sauntered 
aimlessly in the yard. Presently they found them- 
selves at the wellhouse. Souri leaned over it and 
looked down into the well. There was something she 
wanted to say, but found it difficult. 

"I thank you very much for what you've done for 
me," she said. 

"Why, Souri, what have I done for you compared 
with what you did for me?" 

"Didn't you find me a 'poor white' girl a year ago, 
and haven't you sent me to school, with Jakey, and 
helped me to look into a world that would have been 
always closed to me except for you?" 

"And wouldn't my world have been entirely closed 
to me except for you?" 

Souri was silent. 

"Souri, when you speak to me of obligation you 
remind me how deeply I am obliged to you. When I 
was imprisoned at Chattanooga, charged with being a 
spy, tried, convicted, and about to be hanged, you 
came and effected my escape. Why, child, were it 
not for you my bones would this minute be moldering 
in the jail yard at Chattanooga." 

"But Mrs. Maynard, she " 

Souri paused. She was bending low over the side 
of the wellhouse, her face in the palms of her hands, 
her elbows resting on the board beside the bucket, 
and looking down as though seeking for something in 
the dark disk below. 

"She completed what you began," the colonel fin- 
ished for her. 


"It was more for her to do. 'Twasn't noth — any- 
thing for me. You'uns — you was Union and so was 
I. She was Confederate." 

There was a depth of feeling in Souri which threw 
her off her guard and made it difficult for her to 
adhere to her training in expressing herself. 

"Souri, I am indebted to two lovely women for 
every breath I draw. You opened my prison doors. 
She who is my wife concealed me when I was hunted 
for my life. Let us talk no more about it. The very 
mention of the narrowness of my escape gives me a 
choking sensation about the neck." 

Jakey came trotting out of the barn on Tom, the 
rim of his felt hat flapping u]) and down at each step. 

The farmer followed, and Mrs. Slack came out with 
Jakey's bundle. Then with a handshaking all round, 
and a "God bless you, my little girl," from Maynard 
to Souri, the two started on their way, not on foot, as 
on their former journey, but each with a good mount. 



I'^HE two wayfarers started in the direction the 
cavalry had taken, but after going a short dis- 
tance Colonel Maynard reined in his horse. 

"Stop a bit, Madge," he said. "I want to consult 
my staff as to the route." Then to his attendant, 
" Jakey, I think I know a shorter route than this." 

"So do 1." 

"The one you and I took when we went to Chatta- 
nooga before." 

" To bring back information, ' ' added Jakey proudly. 

"We'll take it again. It's off the main road and 
we'll be less liable to be murdered for our boots." 

"Reckon," said Jakey, wrinkling his brow and 
drawing down the corners of his mouth with an in- 
tensely deliberative expression, as though the problem 
having been submitted to him it behooved him to 
con'sider it carefully. 

They rode back past the house, and keeping on for 
about a mile turned into a byway. This they fol- 
lowed till they reached the Chattanooga road. 

Colonel Maynard was in the most exuberant spirits. 
He had turned over the command of his brigade for a 
day or two to the colonel next in rank to himself, and 



was on his way to join his young wife, from whom he 
had parted a week after his marriage. The two acted 
on his spirits like cliampagne. He laughed without 
having anything to laugh at; he bantered Jakey, he 
talked lovingly to his favorite horse Madge. In 
short, Colonel Maynard appeared just what he was in 
years, little more than a boy. 

His services as a scout had attracted the attention 
of the army, and had led the general for whom he 
scouted to advance him. He had stepped from the 
ranks to a high position on the staff, and soon after a 
cavalry regiment being badly in need of a lieutenant- 
colonel (the colonel being inefificient and some junior 
ofificer being needed to practically command), Maynard 
was placed in the position. When the colonel of the 
regiment was gotten rid of, Maynard was made colonel. 
Soon after, his command was attached to a brigade 
wherein he found himself the ranking regimental 
commander. This gave him the command of the 

He entered upon his duties with misgivings. He 
knew he was well fitted for the duties of a scout, but 
doubted if he could command the respect of three 
thousand men. Besides, he knew there lurked within 
him a spirit of antagonism to conventional methods; 
he feared impluses that might wreck not only himself, 
but his brigade — perhaps a whole army. True, there 
was often a kind of illegitimate nobility about these 
impulses, but it did not render them any the less dan- 
gerous. On hearing the news of his appointment to 
the command of a brigade, he mounted his horse and 


dashed over to the headquarters of the general to 
whom he owed nearly all his advancement, with a 
view to protesting. On arriving there he stammered 
out reasons which had no coherence, and was dis- 
missed by the general with the remark that he was 
suffering from an attack of ill-timed modesty, the gen- 
eral adding: "You are a born soldier, Colonel May- 
nard, and if the war lasts long enough to give you an 
opportunity, you will reach a much higher command 
than that of a brigade." 

Once on the road he and Jakey had passed before 
on their journey together to Chattanooga, Maynard 
took infinite delight in talking over their "campaign," 
as he called the mission they had pursued. Jakey 
became more puffed up with pride at having been 
with the colonel on that occasion than having ridden 
with him into Tullahoma. Others had been on his 
staff on the latter occasion, but he, Jake Slack alone, 
had been his boon companion, his confidential friend, 
on his mission to Chattanooga. When Jakey consid- 
ered this double honor he felt that he must certainly 
have been born in uniform and deprived of it by some 
malignant fairy soon after coming into the world. 

The Chattanooga road was by no means deserted. 
Wagons under guard, couriers, staff ofificers followed 
by orderlies, citizens, negroes, indeed all manner of 
people and vehicles passing between the different 
corps of the Army of the Cumberland, met them or 
were passed by them on the way. 

"Jakey," said the colonel, "I remember every 
moment of the time when I came along this road on 


my way back from Chattanooga. I was traveling, as 
the dignitaries say, incog.'' 

"Yer mean by thet ef they'd a knowed what a 
'portant person y' war they'd a showed ther respec' 
by hangin' y'." 

"Exactly. They would have put several feet be- 
tween mine and the waving summer grass below. 
You have a forcible way of expressing yourself, but 
considering that I'm the subject of your remarks, my 
throat feels clearer at my own more delicate drawing 
of the picture." 

"Reckon," said Jakey, with proper solemnity, re- 
membering that the topic was likely to wound the 
colonel's feelings. 

"On that occasion, Jakey, I did not meet even a 
mule without my heart jumping up into my throat." 

"A rope harness must a skeered y' outen yer skin." 

"Especially when I noticed the knots in it. But 
seriously, Jakey, that experience has filled me with a 
peculiar dread. Now suppose some day a Confeder- 
ate spy should fall into my hands." 

"Reckon you'd hev lots o' fun hangen him." 

"You're far out of the way there, my little Solo- 
mon. I fear it would be absolutely impossible for me 
to do such a duty if required of me." 

"Yer needn't take him, in the first place." 

"It might be my duty to do so." 

"Y' mought do like Tom. Tom he can't never 
see me when I want ter drive 'im outen pastur. He 
can see well 'nuff when I get a ear o' corn fo' 'im, 


"A good idea, Jakey, With that subtle sophistry 
of yours you could reason a Methodist minister into 
dancing a hornpipe; but I fear it's hardly sound 
enough to enable one so used to deceiving others as I 
was when a scout to deceive himself. I should do 
my best, should I take a spy, to turn him over." 

" 'Sposen 'twar a woman." 

"O Lord, Jakey, don't suppose any such thing. 
I'd have to do my duty in that case just the same as 
if she were a man. What kind of a looking 'go-cart' 
is that coming down the road?" 

A horse was visible in the distance, its long neck 
stretched out in front of its body, coming toward 
them at a rapid gait. The rattling of a buggy, which 
it dragged, reminded the colonel of the band of a 
newly recruited regiment. Within sat a woman in a 
striped dress, sunbonnet, and glasses. In short, Jakey 
Slack at once recognized his old friend Betsy Baggs. 

"Howdy, Miss Baggs," he said as she drove by. 

Miss Baggs was the Sphinx she had been to Jakey 
when he met her near Tullahoma. She leveled her 
spectacles at him, but had no recognition whatever 
for him. 

"Who's your friend?" asked Maynard, as the 
buggy rattled away. 

"Thet's Miss Baggs," said Jakey. 

"And who's Miss Baggs?" 

Jakey paused a long while before replying. There 
was a problem in his mind, suggested by the meeting 
of Miss Baggs so soon after his conversation with the 
colonel about capturing a woman spy. For Jakey 


had a suspicion that Miss Baggs was in some way a 
Confederate emissary. 

"Wal," he said at length, "I reckon she's sweet on 

"Jakey," said the colonel, "there is occasionally a 
lucidity about your explanations — a shining bright- 
ness which makes my eyes blink. But on the present 
occasion I think there is dust in them. Would you 
mind giving me a pointer as to your meaning? By 
rats, do you mean rodents?" 

"What's rodents?" asked Jakey. 

Meanwhile the rattling of Miss Baggs's buggy was 
dying away in the distance. 

"Real rats are rodents." 

"Not them'uns; Rats is a corporal in Major 
Burke's critter company." 

"The corporal's name is quite appropriate to the 
one you have given his regiment. The woman in the 
buggy looks as if she'd make a fit vivandiere to a 
'critter company,' and a fit sweetheart for a corporal 
by the name of Rats." 

Jakey made no reply to this; he was evidently 
weighed down with some concealed responsibility. 
The colonel tried to draw him again into conversa- 
tion, but even "their campaigns" were not sufificient. 
At last the colonel, realizing that they were near their 
destination and his young wife, became occupied by 
his own thoughts. Suddenly he caught sight of a 
large frame house set back from the road. He gazed 
upon it with a singular mingling of different feelings. 
In it he had first met his wife; in it she had con- 


cealed him from men and hounds; and there she was 
now his wife and the mother of their babe. He gave 
his horse the spurs. Jakey suddenly drew rein. 

"Colonel!" he called. 


"Miss Baggs." 

"Confound Miss Baggs. What of her?" 

"Reckon thur's somep'n wrong 'bout her." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Mebbe she's a 'Federate spy." 

"You little imp, why didn't you tell me that be- 
fore?" cried the colonel angrily. 

"Wal, I hain't sartin' 'bout 't nohow, 'n I 
thought yer moughtn't like fo' to hold onter a 

"Jakey," said the colonel impressively, "you have 
done very wrong. You should have told me of your 
suspicions at once. Remember I'm a colonel com- 
manding a brigade in the Union army." 

The colonel sat irresolute. What should he do? 
Miss Baggs was now miles away. Jakey only sus- 
pected her. His young wife, whom he had not seen 
for nearly a year, was within a stone's throw of him.- 
Suddenly he drove the spurs again into his horse's 
flanks and rode on to the gateway of the plantation. 
There was no need to open the gate, for there was no 
gate to open. The two rode on to the house through 
an avenue of trees, and Colonel Maynard dismounted 
before his horse reached the foot of the steps leading 
up on to the veranda. A young woman flew through 
the open front door with all the impulse of a summer 


Storm. In a moment she and Colonel Maynard were 
closely locked in each other's arms, 



Jakey sat on old Tom, viewing this collision very 
much as he would watch two tempest clouds meet in 
the sky. "Reckon them 'uns hez got 't bad," he 
remarked sotto voce, and with a solemnity that was 
intended to be reverential. 

There was rejoicing at the Fain plantation at the 
sudden appearance of Colonel Maynard. All remem- 
bered the circumstances attending the brief stay he 
had made there the summer before, and were anxious 
to see the man who had left them a private, hunted for 
his life, to return a colonel in the Union army. As 
soon as the news of his arrival reached the negroes 
they came from the cabins in rear and surrounded 
the house, peering in at every window, or waiting at 
the doorways to get a view of their old acquaintance. 
Being informed of their desire, Colonel Maynard 
stepped out onto the veranda and spoke a few words 
to them, thanking them for their devotion to the 
family of which his wife was a member, and telling 
them that a sympathy with the Union cause was not 
necessarily incompatible with such devotion. 

But the happiest moment of the welcoming was 
when the young wife took her husband by the hand, 
and both impatiently mounted the staircase to a cham- 
ber in which there was a cradle. Drawing near it 
Laura Maynard drew its canopy aside, and there was 
the round face of a boy two or three months old. 
He opened his eyes at the moment and stared won' 


deringly in the face of the man bending over him ; 
his mterest being largely enhanced by the two rows 
of brass buttons glittering on his father's breast. 
The face of the colonel was pressed upon the soft 
round cheek of the child, whose little fingers were at 
once clutched in the tawny beard. 

"I've come to report for duty, my son, and I don't 
expect to be relieved so long as you live; but for the 
present I fear you will have to be content with the 
services of your mother. There; one more kiss in 
lieu of salute." 

The kiss was followed by a dozen or so more before 
the colonel could tear himself from the canopied 
cradle. Then husband and wife fell to reminiscences 
of their hurried meeting and courtship in that very 

Colonel Maynard's brigade went into camp on the 
river bank, some five or six miles from the plantation. 
The colonel insisted on having Jakey Slack with him 
permanently, and sent him home to ask his father's 
permission ; Jakey at the same time bearing an invita- 
tion to his sister to visit Mrs. Maynard, reinforced by 
a special request from the colonel that it be accepted. 
Jakey succeeded in obtaining the desired permission, 
and after much hesitation Souri decided to accept. 
Jakey entered the army as drummer boy, but was not 
called upon to flourish the sticks. He was at once 
detailed for duty at brigade headquarters as clerk in 
the assistant adjutant general's department, as a con- 
venient way of making him confidential factotum to 
the colonel commanding. Upon getting on the blue 
and brass of a Union soldier Jakey was very proud of 


himself, and when placed in close confidential rela- 
tionship with the commander of a brigade, he nearly 
burst with the emotions generated by the dignity of 
his position. He was of great use to the colonel, who 
at once appointed him dispatch bearer between him- 
self and Mrs. Maynard. The domestic nearness of 
this office only rendered the boy more consequential. 
He snubbed not only the orderlies attached to the 
headquarters of the brigade, but would occasionally 
approach disrespect toward the officers of the staff. 
As this was largely their fault (for they were contin- 
ually trying to amuse themselves at Jakey's expense), 
they bore it good-naturedly. 

"Why don't you carry that note like any other 
messenger," said an aid to him one day, "in your 

"Coz I haint like any other messenger," retorted 
Jakey. "D'y* reckon a man what carries the colo- 
nel's private corrensponden air a common orderly?" 

As there was no gainsaying this argument, without a 
seeming detriment of the personal dignity of the 
brigade commander, Jakey held the field. 



IT was about a week after the arrival of Colonei 
Maynard at the Fain plantation. He had returned 
to his headquarters. Laura was sitting at work on 
some part of the "recruit's" uniform, while the rain 
from a September storm beat against the window- 
panes. Souri was with her, and as Colonel Maynard 
was expecting orders to cross the river with his bri- 
gade, the two had secured Souri's promise to remain 
at the plantation till the close of the campaign which 
was about to open. Souri was upstairs administering 
to the wants of the younger Maynard, to whom she 
was devoted. He dropped to sleep, and leaving the 
chamber on tiptoe she descended to the sitting-room. 
As she entered she glanced out of the window. 

"Good gracious! If there isn't Miss Baggs!" 

They saw through the rain a horse and buggy mak- 
ing a rapid turn through the gateway. 

"Who's Miss Baggs?" asked Laura quickly. 

"I met her when coming from the North. She got 
through the Union lines by playing the part of a 
country girl. I met her again, on this side, and she 
was a lady. She's coming up to the veranda." 

"Bobby Lee" came up the driveway at such a 
rapid gait as to astonish the two women looking out 
of the window, The horse had scarcely stopped in 


front of the house, when Miss Baggs, throwing down 
the reins, rushed up the steps and knocked loudly at 
the door. 

"Go and see what she wants, Souri. You've met 
her before." 

Souri went quickly to the door. When she opened 
it and Miss Baggs saw the girl she had met betvveen 
the lines, for a moment her countenance brightened. 
Then suddenly her expression changed on remember- 
ing that Souri was a Union girl. 

"I've no time to explain anything. Call someone, 
quick, to drive my buggy to the barn ; and hide me." 

Now Souri knew well enough that Miss Baggs was 
working in the cause of the Confederacy. But she 
saw a woman in trouble, and this in her eyes obscured 
all else. She ushered Miss Baggs into the room where 
Laura sat. 

"This girl wishes to rest with us a while. I'm 
going to take her horse to the barn." 

Without waiting for a reply she went out and, jump- 
ing into the buggy, drove it around to the barn. 
There she directed Uncle Daniel, who ruled the 
stables of the plantation, to put both horse and buggy 
inside and shut the doors. Having seen this attended 
to she went back to the house. 

Meanwhile Miss Baggs stood face to face with 
Laura Maynard. 

"This is a Confederate household, I believe," said 
the fugitive. 

"It is." 

"Thank God! you are one of ours." 



"What, Federal?" she turned pale. 


"Then, for Heaven's sake, tell me what you are." 

"I am a Confederate married to a Union officer." 

There were quick successive flashes of hope and 
fear on Miss Baggs' countenance. 

"And you will not give me up?" 

"Give you up? What do you mean?" 

"I am in the Confederate secret service. I have 
just been recognized by a Union soldier — a cavalry- 
man. He was not mounted, while I was in my 
buggy. I heard him cry halt. I gave my horse the 
whip, and before the man could mount I was away, 
and soon turned behind a wood. There is a fork in 
the road. I took the left road, leading here. He 
must have taken the other, which leads nowhere. He 
will discover his mistake, turn back, and take the 
right road. This is the first house he will pass, and 
he will surely come in to ask if you have seen me." 


"You will not betray me?" 

Laura thought of the coming of her husband one night 
months ago, flying, as this woman was flying, for his life. 

"No, rest easy on that score. I will do all I can 
for you." 

There was but little time for action, for the words 
were scarcely spoken before a cavalryman dashed past 
on the road. He was throwing mud and water behind 
him, his boots heavy with moist Tennessee clay. 
Noticing the house, as Miss Baggs predicted, he drew 
rein and entered the gateway, Riding up to the 
veranda he shouted : 


"Hello, there!" 

"Get in there, quick," said Laura, pushing the 
hunted woman into a closet. Then going out onto 
the veranda, she sternly demanded of the man what 
he wanted. 

"Did you see a woman go by here just now in an 
old farm buggy?" 

"No such person has passed." 



"Are you people here Union or Confederate?" 


"You must excuse me, ma'am, but I think I'll look 
about for myself a bit." 

"You will do no such thing." 

"Why not?" 

"Because this house is protected by a safeguard." 

"That doesn't include rebel emissaries. I shall 
make a search." 

"If you do you will regret it." 


"I shall report you to Colonel Maynard, command- 
ing the th Brigade." 

"You have some influence with the colonel, I sup- 
pose," said the soldier, puzzled. 

"I should have; I'm his wife." 

"The devil you are," in an undertone. Then 
aloud: "Well, ma'am, if you are Colonel Maynard's 
wife that ends it. I don't see how a Union colonel's 
wife can give aid and comfort to a rebel telegraph 
worker, for that's what the woman is," And lifting 
his hat he rode away. 


Returning to the parlor Laura found Souri there, 
just from the barn. The closet door was opened, 
and Miss Baggs stepped out. 

"Is he gone?" 


Taking Laura's hand Miss Baggs covered it with 
kisses, then turning to Souri, she threw her arms 
about her neck. 

"One of you," she said, presently withdrawing 
from the embrace, "has risked compromising a hus- 
band, while the other has acted against the interests 
of her cause, to protect me. Your individual sym- 
pathy has overridden your sense of a more important 
obligation. I wish I could be like you, but I can't. 
My whole being has become absorbed in my country, 
I see only pictures of the South's desolation. They 
have dried the springs of my heart for any one human 
being. I am so steeled against anything that would 
weaken my purpose to serve the whole, that I would 
sacrifice my own brother, sister, lover, if I had one, 
to my cause, if necessary. It is war that has reduced 
me to this; war, terrible war, striking down our 
brothers by thousands; war, covering our land with 
smoking ruins; war, frightful, fiendish war, seeking 
to reduce us to the level of our own servants. War 
has hardened my heart and made me not a woman, 
but — sometimes I think, a fiend." 

While delivering herself of these words a cold, 
harsh look gradually came over her handsome fea- 
tures, till she came to the last words. They were 
spoken with inexpressible melancholy. Then there 
was a sudden transition to a look of kindliness, which 


coming after the other, was like the first warm rays of 
sunlight bursting through storm clouds. 

Mrs. Fain came into the room, and seeing a stran- 
ger drew back. 

"Mamma," said Laura, "this lady comes to us 
much as Mark once came from the other side. She is 
chased for her life." 

"A Confederate?" asked Mrs. Fain. 

"A Confederate, heart and hand, body and soul," 
exclaimed Miss Baggs. 

"One sympathizing with our cause is welcome 
here. Unfortunately my family is broken by diverse 
sympathies. My husband is exiled on account of his 
sympathies with the Federal cause. My son is fighting 
for the Confederacy. My daughter here is the wife 
of a Federal officer. My own sympathies are all with 
the South. " 

"Madam," replied the guest, "for the sake of the 
South, were it necessary, I might stay here long 
enough to endanger your daughter's happiness, but 
not for my own. Fortunately it is not necessary. 
Early to-morrow I must be miles from here. I shall 
go at midnight." 

"Let your departure rest with yourself. You are 
welcome as long as you choose to stay." 

"And liow," said Laura, "if you will come with 
me I will get you some dry clothing." 

"I will; but first let me know to whom I am in- 
debted for all this kindness. The family name 
is ?" 

' ' Fain . ' ' 

Miss Baggs controlled an ejaculation of surprise. 




"And you are Laura Fain?" 

"I was. I am now Laura Maynard. You seem to 
at least have heard of me." 

"I have heard of you. I am a Virginian. You 
once visited in Virginia. I was then in Italy study- 
ing art. " 

"And you are ?" 

There was a brief silence before the guest replied. 
She seemed deliberating whether to make herself 
known or not. 

"Betsy Baggs," she said at last, and it wns evident 
that if she had another name she would not reveal it. 

Supper was announced, after which Miss Baggs 
asked to be shown to a room where she could rest. 
A servant was summoned, who led her to the guest 
chamber, and setting the lamp on a table left her to 

When the servant disappeared, Miss Baggs turned 
the key in the lock and then carefully examined the 
walls, with a view to discovering if there were open- 
ings through which any eye could peer into the room. 
Her narrow escape, the last of a number of such 
episodes, had partly unnerved her, and she sat down 
in a chair to rest, languidly closing her eyes. But 
not for long. Rising, she drew from the pocket of 
her dress (everyone knows that there is no better 
place of concealment than a woman's pocket) a small 
bundle of papers. Spreading them out on the table 
she drew her chair near it, and after once more cast- 
ing her eye about the room began to study them. 


Miss Baggs had been endeavoring to secure the 
information required as to the methods of the general 
commanding the Army of the Cumberland in follow- 
ing the retreating Confederates, ever since the request 
had been made of her in June previous. Here it was 
September, and she had effected nothing. True, she 
had taken a number of dispatches in cipher from the 
wires, but they were very long, and the longer the 
message the more difficult she had found them to 
decipher. Within a few days she had intercepted 
two very short ones. Taking them from those before 
her she began to study one consisting of only a few lines. 

It read as follows: 

Washington, D. C, August 5, '63. 
Banks here army the Benjamin cat to for your 
report shinney daily are advance the cart orders of 
peremptory applause. 

Here is the other; a little longer: 

Washington, D. C, September 3, '63. 
Congress long with as advise applause marble your 
possible your ago to party was connect soon to move- 
ments spot his ordered as to Burton pin of and left 
ordered Benjamin. 

Taking up the dispatch she had intercepted when 
the Army of the Cumberland began to advance, and 
some papers showing that she had been trying to 
decipher it, she began to look them over. This is the 

MURFREESBORO, JunC 28, '6^. 

Volunteers Garfield with circling between you pos- 
session turn an he cob Bumble at to get that possible 
by move Benjamin pony chief rapidity around that 


put of the hours ready shingle to notice enemy's Tul- 
lahoma your point the by of poliwog of plateau Nig- 
gard if desire and hope forward to haha move me 
right I command and mountain order staff. 

Miss Baggs had had this dispatch by her since the 
latter part of the preceding June, and had puzzled 
over it for many an hour. She had never succeeded 
in finding a key, but had at last drawn something of 
its meaning from the jurable of words. After much 
study she assumed that the words, when laid down in 
their proper order, would give the proper meaning. 
But there were certain words, which either did not 
mean anything, or stood perhaps for some place or 
general. She began by taking out a number of 
such words as "poliwog," "haha," "shingle" and 
"pony." The di3patch was doubtless from Rose- 
crans, as the word Garfield (his chief of staff) ap- 
peared, and the words "chief of staff" were scattered 
through it. Therefore either Benjamin, or Bumble, 
or Niggard, meant Rosecrans. Subsequent dispatches 
which fell into her hands had convinced her that 
Rosecrans was designated as Benjamin. Then she 
began to try to fit words together in this wise: 

Your command 

between Tullahoma and Niggard 
get possession 
enemy's right 

Circling around the mountain plateau 
I desire that you get possession if possible 
a point between Tullahoma and Niggard 
Move with rapidity 

By order of Benjamin (Rosecrans) Garfield chief 
of staff. 

Joo chicicamaUgA. 

Other groupings gave her better results, till she 
obtained the following: 

To Bumble (probably a cavalry general on the left 
flank): Be ready to move at an hour's notice. I desire 
that you turn the enemy's right. Move your com- 
mand, if possible, by circling around the mountain 
plateau. Get possession of a point between Tulla- 
homa and Niggard (probably some point in rear of the 
Southern army) with rapidity. By order of Rose- 
crans, Garfield, chief of staff. 

The deciphering, so far as it went, was of no avail 
since it did not come in time, but it helped her with 
the shorter and easier dispatches, which she now 
attacked. She began with this one: 

Banks here army the Benjamin cat to for your 
report shinney daily are advance the cart orders of 
peremptory apphiuse. 

Miss Baggs had learned that a proper name pre- 
ceded all these cipher dispatches; possibly having 
something to do with the key. At any rate, she 
tlirew out the iir«i. word (Banks) and the words 
"cat," "shinney," and "cart" as check words. "Ben- 
jamin," she assumed, meant Rosecrans. Applause 
must be the signature of the sender; and as the dis- 
patch was from Washington, it was probably either 
Lincoln, Stanton, or Halleck. The word "to" taken 
with "Benjamin" must mean "To Rosecrans" and 
"peremptory" and "orders" evidently must go 
together. The word "advance" doubtless explained 
the two other words. This only left "report" and 

Chick A ma vga . i o t 

"daily" as words of importance. These combina- 
tions did not come at once, but after getting them she 
inferred that Rosecrans had peremptory orders to 
advance and report daily to Washington. 

"I have got something at last," she exclaimed, get- 
ting up from her chair and walking back and forth 
excitedly. "This is indeed important." 

Then she took up the second dispatch: 

Congress long with as advise applause marble you 
possible your ago to party was connect soon to move- 
ments spot his ordered as to Burton pin of and left 
ordered Benjamin. 

Again the words "To" and "Benjamin" were put 
together, and the words "Congress," "marble," 
"party," and "spot" stricken out as checks. The 
dispatch being longer than the other, was more diffi- 
cult of interpretation. It was some time before the 
student was satisfied with her efforts. She inferred 
from it that someone was ordered to connect with 
someone else. She knew that the Confederate gener- 
als feared that Burnside might connect with Rose- 
crans, So it was probable that Burton meant Burn- 
side, who was at Knoxville, and that he had been 
ordered to connect with Rosecrans' left "as soon as 
possible." The remaining words evidently meant 
"Burnside also directed to report his movements to 
you." * 

* By the key, the first word in this dispatch, Congress, signifies 
that the words are to be laid in five lines, there being five columns 
of words. Every sixth word is to be omitted as a check word. 
The key directs to begin at the top of the fifth column and lay the 


"This is no less important than the other,** mused 
Miss Baggs. "It is clear from both that Rosecrans 
has peremptory orders to advance, and Burnside is 
ordered to join him. I must get this through the 
lines at once. From here I must find a way across 
the Tennessee — just above Chattanooga if possible — 
and perhaps I may strike their line connecting with 
Rosecrans' headquarters at the front, and gather in 
the latest news. 'It never rains but it pours,' and I'll 
get in all I can get while I'm in luck." 

Collecting her papers she carefully tied them 
together and put them in her pocket. Then turning 
down the light, she unlocked the door and went 















Hal leek 

words down under each other. Then go up the first, down the 
fourth, up the third, up the second. Benjamin means Rosecrans, 
Burton means Burnside, Applause means Halleck. 

Thus : 
To Rosecrans 

ago ordered 

your left 

possible and 
you of 

The key to the preceding dispatch is as follows : The first 
word (Banks) denotes that there are four lines and four columns. 
Begin at the bottom of the second, skipping every fifth (check) 
word and lay the words up this column. Then go down the first, 
up the third, and down the fourth. 

The key to the longer or first dispatch is : The first word 
(Volunteers) denotes that there are nine lines and six columns. 
Go up the third column, down the second, up the fourth, down the 
fifth, up the first, down the sixth. 

This code, varied as in the above dispatches, was in use during 
the greater part of the war. 



COLONEL MAYNARD was in the habit of mak- 
ing frequent visits to his wife, and without warn- 
ing. Laura understood perfectly the embarrassing 
position in which he would be placed at surprising a 
Confederate spy under the same roof with herself and 
protected by her. She had no mind to place him in 
any such position. When Miss Baggs went upstairs 
Laura posted a sentry, in the person of Uncle Daniel, 
to keep a sharp lookout and give notice of the colo- 
nel's approach, in order that Miss Baggs might be got 
out of the way before his arrival. Daniel sat down 
on a bench on the veranda and lit his pipe. He was 
an old man and prone to dose. It was not long 
before Lookout Mountain, across the river, began to 
sway among the clouds, the nearer trees began to 
rock, the old negro's head fell upon his breast, and 
he slept. 

It was nearly ten o'clock when Laura, having given 
up the coming of her husband that night, and for once 
in her life rejoicing thereat, was about to dismiss 
Daniel from his responsible position, when she heard 
a step on the veranda. Thinking it was Daniel walk- 
ing back and forth to keep himself awake, she paid no 
attention to it. There was a turning of the knob to 
the front door, and in another moment Colonel May- 

1 04 CHICK A MA UGA . 

nard stood on the threshold of the sitting-room, look- 
ing in upon Mrs. Fain, Laura, Souri, and Miss Baggs. 
He was about to enter when, observing a strange per- 
son, he hesitated. Laura advanced, and taking him 
by the hand led him to another room. He had only 
once before seen Miss Baggs and then in disguise, 
and did not recognize her. 

"Why, sweetheart," he said to his wife, "you're 

"You came in so hurriedly." 

"I am hurried. We cross the river to-morrow 

"To-morrow morning! O Mark, why couldn't 
they wait a few days?" 

"If wives and sweethearts had the giving of orders, 
Uncle Sam would have his armies always in winter 

"Why couldn't this happiness have lasted just a 
little longer?" 

"And then still a little longer. Come, I have but 
a short time to stay. Let me say good-by to the 

Laura led the way upstairs, and drew the curtains 
from the cradle, exposing the sleeping infant. 

There was something in the innocence, the absence 
of force in the little slumberer, so different from the 
scenes in which he was wont to mingle, to set in 
motion a train of feelings in Mark Maynard to which 
he had thus far been a stranger. On the one side 
was the wife he loved and the sleeping child ; on the 
other, what now appeared toilsome marches, nights 
spent on wet ground, sickness, mangling by shell, and 


bullets, and sabre cuts. A year before he had loved 
these hardships, these dangers. Now a new element 
had entered into his life, and, at least while he gazed 
on the little stranger (the only life that had come to 
him among the many gone since the war began), he 
felt a strange repugnance to entering upon the coming 

"My boy, my boy," he said huskily, the thought 
suddenly coming to him that he might never see wife 
or child again, "how can I now risk leaving you to 
struggle on to manhood unprotected?" Then recog- 
nizing his weakness, he said with a quick-born smile: 
"But you have your mother, and I must win the star 
of a brigadier for you to play with." 

But war's quick and imperative demands gave him 
little time for the indulgence of such feelings. He 
tried to turn away. Again and again he drew the 
curtains of the cradle, only to draw them back for one 
more look. 

"Laura," he said suddenly, "all is changed. Be- 
fore you and he came, I did my duty as a soldier, 
because it was not hard to do, and because it pleased 
me. Now it will be hard, and I shall do it that you 
and he may not be disgraced in me. How can I ever 
leave a blot on my name and have that child grow up 
to know it?" 

Laura, seeing how hard it was for him to draw him- 
self from the cradle, took his hand and led him away. 

Going downstairs they found the house silent. All 
the family were in bed. Maynard knew that it was 
time he had departed. It was very late and he must 
ride eight miles to camp, and be on the march with 


his brigade before daylight. But he could hardly tear 
himself away from the house. The sleeping child 
upstairs seemed to have brought, from the Unknown 
whence he came, a maze of gentler emotions which 
were drifting like smoke-wreaths about his father, 
obscuring the way from their peaceful influence. 

"Laura," he said impressively, "let us always keep 
ourselves pure for him. Do you know that I look 
back with horror at all the deception I was obliged to 
practice when a spy — when in this house before. 
And you — how many fibs you were obliged to tell for 
my sake! " 

"Wasn't it dreadful?" 

They were locked in a parting embrace. Mark 
kissed her again and again. 

"Those were strange circumstances," he said. 

"Frightfully strange." 

"Which couldn't happen again in a century." 

"I hope they'll never happen again to us." 

"Somehow I dislike to think of your deception, 
even for my sake. You won't do so any more, will 
you, darling?" 

"Never," she whispered. 

Suddenly he remembered the strange woman he 
had stumbled on when he came in. 

"By the bye," he asked, "who was the lady with 
you this evening ?" 

Laura's promise to deceive no more had been 
breathed only a moment. What was she to say? She 
could not betray the woman who had thrown herself 
upon her protection ; she could not place her beloved 
husband in an equivocal position. 

"She? Oh, she was only one of the neighbors who 


came in to help me with some things I'm making for 
the baby." 

There was one more embrace; then another last 
one; then another final one: then a stirrup kiss; and 
Colonel Mark Maynard rode back through the night 
to camp. 

Not long after his arrival bugles sounded the reveille. 
It was two o'clock in the morning, and the men were 
aroused to begin their advance to the front. Sending 
for Jakey Slack the colonel gave him a note to take 
back to Laura at the plantation He had repeated his 
adieus so often in person that one would hardly think 
it necessary to send any more on cold paper, but 
Maynard's heart strings were pulling him as strongly 
away from war as his duty was forcing him toward it. 
Besides he knew that Laura would treasure every 
word from him. 

Jakey mounted Tom, and rode in the gray of the 
morning to deliver the note. When he reached the 
plantation he was obliged to do a good deal of pound- 
ing and ringing before he could get into the house. 
Finally Mrs. Maynard's maid, Alice, let him in, and 
considering the fact that Mrs. Maynard was in bed 
and Alice stood in very close confidential relations 
with her, Jakey consented to deliver the note to the 
maid, and waited to see if there was any reply. Alice 
returned and said that her mistress would be down in 
a moment. Presently she entered, dressed in a morn- 
ing wrapper. 

"Jakey," she said, taking the boy by the hand and 
smoothing his hair out of his eyes, "can I rely on 
you to do something for me?" 

"Could the colonel?" 


"You are all going to the front, and no one can tell 
what may happen. You'll probably have to meet 
your enemies sometime, and the colonel says that a 
battle may come at any day. I want you to promise 
me that if anything should happen to the colonel you 
will come here as fast as you can and let me know of 
it. Do you understand?" 

"Y' mean ef th' colonel gits hit on th' for'ead with 
a cannon ball?" 

"O Jakey, don't talk so. I mean if he gets sick or 
wounded or in any other trouble, will you come and 
tell me at once?" 


Laura knew that this was Jakey's way of making a 
promise, and she was satisfied. She told him to wait 
a few minutes, and went out of the room. When she 
returned she brought two parcels with her. 

"This one is for you, Jakey," she said, handing 
him one of them. "It's a luncheon. Put it in your 
haversack, and give the other to the colonel. And 
hand him this note." 

She gave him a tiny white envelope, within which in 
a few words was concentrated what may be best 
expressed as three days' rations of desiccated affection. 

Jakey took the parcels and placing the note in his 
cap, went out, mounted Tom, and dashed away after 
his commander. 

Maynard's brigade crossed the river south of Look- 
out Mountain and passed over the mountain's face 
where it juts onto the river. The enemy had been 
dispossessed and Maynard had little to do except 
to cast an occasional glance down upon the Fain 


plantation, which he could see plainly and where 
dwelt what was all the world to him. During the day, 
with a glass, he could see people on the veranda, and 
fancied that his wife and boy were tliere. As the sun 
was setting, he took a last view before descending to 
the more level ground below. He was destined to 
pass through strange scenes, to undergo marked 
changes, before he would see his beloved again. 

His command was but one of the many, all moving 
forward toward a retreating enemy. The three corps, 
of which the Army of the Cumberland consisted, 
crossed the Tennessee at different points. General 
Thomas, once across, moved to Stevens' Gap, an 
opening in a range called Lookout Mountain, extend- 
ing south from near Chattanooga. There he entered 
the valley of Chickaraauga Creek. General McCook 
seized Winston's Gap, further south in the same 
chain. General Crittenden crossed from the Se 
quatchee Valley, moving over Lookout Mountain 
toward Chattanooga. Bragg, finding his communica- 
tions threatened by McCook and Thomas, evacuated 
Chattanooga and retreated to Lafayette, twenty miles 
south. Crittenden, passing through Chattanooga, 
pushed on to Ringold. 

Colonel Maynard moved his command through 
Chattanooga to Rossville, situated at a gap in Mission 
Ridge. From there he was ordered forward, entering 
what is called McLenm.ore's Cove, an undulating 
space lying between two ranges. Mission Ridge and 
the Pigeon Mountains. There the brigade encamped 
on a field soon to become memorable as the scene of 
one of the most desperate, the most dramatic of all 
the battles of the Civil War— the field of Chickamauga, 



MAJOR BURKE'S command was ordered to 
guard the telegraph line extending south from 
Rossville. The regmient was strung out to a consid- 
erable distance, each troop guarding a certain portion 
of the line. Corporal Ratigan was placed in charge 
of a section of two miles. Putting himself at the 
head of eight men he led them to the end of his sec- 
tion nearest camp, and dividing them into two reliefs 
of four men each, posted them at intervals of half a 
mile along the line under his care. At sunset, not 
being relieved, he prepared to spend the night in 
bivouac. Selecting a clump of trees under which to 
rest, and cutting some boughs for beds — or rather to 
keep the men from the damp ground — the corporal 
established the relief, off duty, there. The rations 
were cooked and eaten, after which the guard was 
relieved. The corporal went out always with the 
relief, posted his men, and slept between tunes. 

Soon after establishing the camp Ratigan noticed 
that one of his men was none other than private Flan- 
agan, whose reputation in the regiment for glaring 
stupidity was well established. 

"Flanagan," he said, "how came ye here?" 

"Faith, I was ardered." 

"It must have been the divil that ordered ye. If 


ye'r going to act as stupid on this expedition as ye'r 
used to acting, the wires '11 be cut a dozen times for 
all you." 

Flanagan, who considered himself treated unjustly, 
bore the stigma attached to him meekly. His good 
nature was all that saved him from the consequences 
of the numerous absurdities of which he was guilty. 
Instead of attempting to argue the matter with the 
corporal he occupied his mind in devising ways by 
which he might soften what he considered his ob- 
durate heart, and induce him to act toward himself 
more leniently. 

Soon after the men had eaten their evening rations, 
consisting of the ordinary bacon and hard-tack, Flan- 
agan took his carbine and strolled to a thicket near by 
to see if he could find anything more palatable for the 
next meal. He was soon rewarded by the sight of a 
bird hopping about in the branches, chirping all the 
while and occasionally pausing to look at him quizzi- 
cally, with its head poised on one side. Flanagan 
determined to bring it down for the corporal's break- 
fast, thereby propitiating that spirit of antagonism 
which, in his innocence, he could not account for. He 
did not stop to consider whether the bird was eatable 
or not; indeed he did not know. All he wanted was 
a peace offering. He approached and brought his 
gun to an aim. The bird hopped to the other side of 
the tree. He was obliged to take a new position. 
The bird flew to the next tree. The private followed. 
Just as he was about to fire, the bird took wing and 
lit on a branch still further from the camp. Thus 
was Flanagan led from one tree to another till he 

1 1 2 CHICK A MA UGA . 

found himself around a bend in the road between the 

Suddenly he espied something which drew his 
attention from the object he was following. An old 
farm buggy, behind a rawboned horse, stood in the 
road, while near by a woman was coiling a wire on 
her hand, one end of which was dangling over a tele- 
graph wire above her head. She turned, and seeing a 
Union soldier, became suddenly white as a sheet. 
But this he could not see, owing to the shade of her 
sunbonnet and glasses, 

"Good ayvenen, miss." 

*La sakes, Mr. soger!" 

"It's a foine ayvenen." 

**Reckon 't air." 

""What do ye be doen wid the little woire?" 

By this time Miss Baggs, for it was she, had recov- 
ered some of her equanimity, 

"I'm a-rollen 't up," 

"And what's it for?" 

"Wal, I'll tell y*. Yer see th' stone on th' end? 
Wal, thet's fo' to kill birds with. I jist throwed th' 
stone at a bird. By haven it tied to a wire I kin hold 
enter th' stone, 'n don't hev ter keep picken up stones 
all th' while, pertickerlerly when I'm a-sitten in th' 

"It's an injaneyous and original device." 

"What air you'uns a doen hyar?" 

"There's a small party of us around the bend; 
we're guyarden the telegraph." 

' 'How many of y' air there ? " 

"A carporal and eight men, includen meself." 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 1 3 

"What air you'uns doen out hyar away from all th' 
rest on 'em?" 

"Follyen a burred." 

"Oh ! It's birds yer looken fo'. Wal, you'uns jist 
go inter thet thicket 'n y'll git a hull flock." 

"Ye don't mane it!" 

Miss Baggs pointed up the road to a wood which if 
private Flanagan should go there he would be still 
further away from his camp. 

"Are ye shure there's a flock?" 

"Ther so thick y* can't see the sky." 

"Oi'U try for 'em." 

Miss Baggs went on coiling her wire unconcernedly, 
till the private was out of sight. Then she sprang 
into her buggy and giving "Bobby" the lash drove 
rapidly away. 

"One more attempt to-night," she said, "and to- 
morrow I'll be off for our camps. I'll make it right 
here. If the rest of the party guarding the line are as 
stupid as this one, I couldn't wish for a better 

It was two o'clock in the morning when Ratigan 
started out to post the last relief for the night. The 
men followed, grum and stupid, having just been 
wakened out of a sound sleep and not yet thoroughly 
aroused. The party rode to the extreme end of the 
section, left a man, and turned back, leaving a man 
at every half mile. Corporal Ratigan had posted the 
last man half a mile from the bivouac and was return- 
ing, when suddenly, turning a bend in the road run- 
ning through a wood, lie descried a dark object before 
him beside the road. He drew rein and watched and 

1 1 4 CHICK A MA UCA , 

listened. The dark object, as he fixed his gaze upon 
it, grew into the dim outlines of a vehicle, but it was 
too dark for him to see if it contained anyone. The 
corporal, whose mind had been fixed on the special 
duty of protecting the line, at once assumed that 
someone was trying to cut the wire. He put spurs to 
his horse and called out: 

"Halt there! Throw up your hands and surren- 
der, or I'll shoot." 

The only response was a swish from a whip which 
came down evidently on a horse's back, and the dark 
mass before him vanished around the bend in the 
road. The corporal dashed on, but before he could 
get round the bend the object had turned again. He 
could hear the rattling of wheels, and sounds of a 
horse's hoofs digging into the road at a gallop. 
Whoever was behind that horse must be driving at a 
frightful pace, for urging his own beast to his best he 
seemed to lose rather than gain ground. Coming to a 
straight piece of road he could again see the object 
before him, but in the darkness it was simply a darker 
spot than its surroundings. 

The corporal found himself started in a chase 
which from the first promised to be an unequal one. 
True, the animal with which his own was vying was 
dragging some sort of a vehicle, while the corporal's 
steed had his load all on his back. There was a hun- 
dred and eighty pounds of human flesh, some thirty 
to forty ]50unds of weapons and ammunition, besides 
clothing, and several pounds of cavalry boots. 
Whether or no the odds were in favor of the one or 
the other, the two animals had passed over a mile, and 

Chick A ma uCa . 115 

Ratigan could not tell whether he had lost or gained. 
There were strange sounds mingling with the more 
distinct rattling of wheels in front, but the corporal's 
sabre, as it gyrated in the air, knocked against his left 
leg, thrashed under his horse's belly, made such a 
clatter that all other noises were but whispers in a 
storm. Then there was his carbine to pound against 
him and his horse's side, threatening at each beat to 
break a rib. Indeed the corporal, after vainly trying 
to carry both sabre and carbine in one hand, while he 
held the reins with the other, and dug his heels into 
his horse's flanks, began to think that he could do 
better in a wagon than so hampered on a horse's back. 

Then he decided to try what effect a bullet would 
have on the fugitive. Dropping both sabre and car- 
bine he drew his revolver and fired a couple of shots. 
He did not aim directly at the flying object, for he did 
not know what he was firing at. The only effect 
produced seemed to be a renewed effort on the part 
of the steed in front. 

Suddenly the ears of the corporal caught a sound 
that filled him with astonishment. It was a voice 
urging forward the borse he was chasing. Ratigan 
had supposed that whoever was trying to escape was a 
man, yet this voice was different from a man's tones; 
it sounded like that of a child or a woman. The 
corporal was puzzled. Then it suddenly occurred to 
him that perhaps he was chasing Betsy Baggs. 

Now, the corpora] was as conscientious a man as 
there was in the Army of the Cumberland, and one of 
the most gallant, but when the suspicion fell upon 
him like a chill, that he was after a woman whose 

1 1 6 CHICK A MA UGA . 

presence, for the brief period he had been with her, 
had thrown a strange spell over him, he ceased to 
urge his horse with the same pressure as before. In 
the midst of the chase there had come a contest 
within his own breast between two conflicting emo- 
tions. If Betsy Baggs were in front of him, what 
would be the result if he should catch her? He must 
turn her over to the military authorities, and the 
chances were she would be executed for a spy. On 
the other hand, supposing he permitted her to escape, 
he would be liberating an enemy far more dangerous 
to the army in which he served than a dozen batter- 
ies. In short, he would be a traitor to his comrades 
and his cause. 

The corporal turned these two alternatives over 
rapidly in his mind, dwelling first on one and then on 
the other, till he thought he would go mad. At one 
moment his sense of duty, acting all-powerful, would 
drive his spurs into his horse's flanks till the blood 
flowed. Then he would see a picture of Miss Baggs, 
as he had once seen her standing up in her buggy 
under the protection of Confederate troopers, her eye 
lighting with delight at his confusion, her hair half 
undone, the bewitching smile that revealed her white 
teeth. He would suddenly turn from this picture to 
the woman standing before a file of soldiers to whom 
he, Corporal Ratigan, had turned her over for execu- 
tion. One feature held him on to the chase. It was 
that he did not surely know whom he followed. He 
suspected Miss Baggs, but for all he knew it might be 
someone else. So he pressed on and did his best. 

Miss Baggs, for it was she, had passed many pick- 


ets, had experienced many lucky escapes. She had 
browbeaten officers, and had cozened soldiers. She 
had gone through a dozen places where a man would 
surely have been arrested. For months she had been 
in quest of information that would give her cause the 
victory in the West. When surprised by the corporal, 
she had just taken off telegrams revealing the whole 
situation of the Army of the Cumberland. She had 
withdrawn her wire, had closed her box, and when 
the corporal came up was preparing to start. And 
now, after passing so many dangers, on the very eve of 
success, she suddenly found herself in the most criti- 
cal of all the situations she had ever been placed in. 

Meanwhile the long legs of "Bobby Lee" were get- 
ting over the ground at an astonishing pace. It was 
not the triangulation of a former race for sport with 
Corporal Ratigan, but the quick, short jumps of a 
race for life. And Bobby seemed to know the 
stake. Never in his former flights had his ear been 
turned back so eagerly to catch the low tones of his 
mistress. Never had there been so much feeling in 
that mistress' voice. It was: "Go on, Bobby! 
Good old horse. Get up! On! on! on! That's a 
dear boy. It's life and death with me, Bobby"; a 
continued stream of broken words and sentences, all 
of which Bobby seemed to understand and act upon 
as if he had been a human being. 

The fugitive knew that the chase could not be a 
long one. Her crazy vehicle was like a rotten hulk 
in a storm without sea room. To the north was the 
Tennessee River, and no means of crossing. Ahead 
was Chickamauga Creek, but between her and it lay 

1 1 8 CHICK A MA VGA . 

the scattered forces of the left wing of the Union 
army. She knew the ground well, and had as good 
a knowledge of the positions of the troops as one 
could have of an army constantly changing. The 
point from which she had started was half a mile west 
of Rossville on the Lafayette road. A mile of chas- 
ing had brought her near a fork, the left road leading 
across Chickamauga Creek by Dyer's bridge; the 
right leading directly south. By the former route 
three miles would bring her to the creek and in prox- 
imity to the Confederate outposts; by the latter, she 
would have to traverse double the distance and pass 
the camps of a whole corps of the Union army. But 
even the scattered forces on the shorter road seemed 
an impassable barrier to her, and it was not probable 
that any bridge across the creek would be left un- 
guarded. There were as many fords as there were 
bridges, and if she could strike one of these she might 
possibly find a free passage. She determined to take 
the left-hand road, intending, if she should succeed in 
reaching Dyer's Mill, about a mile from the creek, 
to strike a ford some distance below that she remem- 
bered having once crossed. 

These possibilities flashed through her mind like 
messages over a telegraph wire, while the thud of 
hoofs and the clattering of her pursuer's swinging 
sabre were sounding in her ears. 

"On, on, Bobby, for Heaven's sake, go on." 

Would it not be best for her to leave her horse and 

buggy in the road and take to the woods? No. 

They would mark the point where she had left them. 

But her pursuer would not know which side of the 


road she had taken, and there would be an even 
chance that he would follow on the wrong side. 
Something must be done; the race could not last for- 
ever; the man behind seemed to be gaining; and then 
the dread of coming upon a Union camp! 

She was about to bring her horse to a stand and 
jump from her buggy, when the clatter behind her — 
Ratigan had turned a slight bend in the road — 
sounded so loud, so near, that instead of doing so she 
gave him a cut with the whip. 

"There's no time now, Bobby. We must put a 
greater distance between us and the Yankee. Get 
up, Bobby! Oh, go on! Why haven't you wings?" 

Heavens! what is that ahead? Tents white and 
ghostly in the gloom! And how many of them! 
The whole field is covered! 

Nearer comes the clatter from behind. In front is 
a sleeping regiment, brigade, perhaps a whole divi- 
sion. It was not there yesterday. It must be in tran- 
sit. Oh, why should it have halted just in time to 
block the way? 

"God help me, I must take my chances and go 

Sentinels were pacing on their beats about the 
camps. In some cases the beats led along the road, 
but not across it. Right through these chains of sen- 
tinels, right into the heart of this sleeping multitude 
of armed men, dashed the woman whose only weapons 
of defense were Bobby Lee and her antiquated 


"Goon, Bob." 


A shot, a bullet singing like a tuning fork, in ears 
which already sang loud enough in themselves with 
excitement. ' 

' ' Tur)i out the guard ! ' ' 

Following Miss Baggs came Corporal Ratigan, to 
find the road in front of him blocked by half a dozen 
men with as many muskets pointed right up in his face. 

He uttered an involuntary "thank God!" He 
must be delayed ; the responsibility for the escape of 
the fugitive would be with them. If indeed she were 
Miss Baggs he would regard himself fortunate at the 

"What's the matter?" asked one of the men. 

"I'm chasing some one in front. I suspect a tele- 
graph breaker." 

"Ah! That's it, is it? Well, go on; we've 
stopped the wrong person." 

The corporal regretted that the interview had been 
so brief, the interruption so short. He had no 
option but to dash on. 

Before the fugitive there stood a man in the middle 
of the road with a musket leveled straight at her, or 
rather at the coming mass which he could not distin- 
guish. Miss Baggs did not see him till she got within 
a dozen feet of him and heard : 

"Halt, or I'll fire!" 

Rising in her seat and concentrating all her strength 
in one effort, she brought her whip down on the 
horse's back, at the same time holding him in the 
center of the road by the reins. The man was 
knocked in one direction, stunned, and his musket 
went llying in the other. 


And now each one of the chain of sentries through 
which the fair dispatch stealer's horse dragged her 
and her swaying buggy with a series of lunges, 
hearing shots, the cries of guards, the clatter of 
horse's hoofs, the rattling of wheels, and seeing some- 
thing coming through the darkness as Miss Baggs ap- 
proached, shouted "Halt!" "Turn out the guard." 
"Who comes there?" and a score of other similar 
cries, to none of which Miss Baggs paid any other 
attention than to fly through and from them as from 
the hand of Death. A score of shots were fired at her 
along half a mile of road while she was running the 

And now the last sentry is passed and the woman 
shoots out from between the rows of white tents into a 
free road ahead. The noises are left behind. But 
amid the confusion of distant sounds is one which, 
coming with a low, continued rattle, strikes terror into 
her heart. A familiarity with war has taught her its 
calls. She hears the beating of the "long roll." The 
whole camp is aroused. A legion of Yankees may 
soon be in pursuit. 

Corporal Ratigan was stopped by every sentinel 
who had tried to check Miss Baggs. After an ex- 
planation to each he was suffered to go on. The men 
who stopped him transmitted the information at once 
to the guard tent that some one — doubtless an enemy 
— was being chased. The force was a division of 
infantry, with no cavalry except a mounted escort to 
the general commanding. Some of these were 
ordered in pursuit. There was a hurried saddling of 
horses, sprinkled with oaths at the delays encoun- 


tered, and three cavalrymen mounted, and dashed 
after Miss Baggs and her pursuer. But before they 
started, a couple of miles had been placed between 
her and the camps. 

The gray of the morning was by this time beginning 
to reveal objects with greater distinctness. Ratigan, 
coming to a rise in the ground just beyond the camps, 
saw tlie buggy about two miles ahead swaying like the 
dark hull of a ship rolling through the billows of an 
ocean. For a moment he hesitated between his duty 
as a soldier, and that quick, sharp something, be it love, 
bewitchment, or a natural sympathy of man for weaker 
woman, while beads of cold perspiration stood on his 
forehead. It seemed to him that if he should do his 
duty he would be acting the part of an executioner; 
not only that, but the executioner of a woman — a 
woman whose image had got into his heart and his 
head, and never left him a moment's peace since she 
first threw the spell of her entrancing personality 
about him. It was a hard struggle, and from the 
nature of the case could not be a long one. Duty 
won. He shouted to his horse, gave him a dig with 
both spurs, and dashed forward. 

There was a depression in the ground down which 
the corporal plunged. Then the road ran along a 
level for a while, with another slight rise beyond. As 
he rode down the declivity the fugitive was on the 
crest of the second rise. She stood up and turned to 
catch a glance behind her. She saw a horseman — she 
was too far to recognize the corporal — dashing after 
her. Below her was a wooded space, and she noticed 
that which gave her a glimmer of hope. The road 


forked. Urging her horse onward she aimed to get 
on one of the two roads beyond the fork while her 
pursuer was in the hollow back of her, trusting that 
she might escape as she had escaped before, by forc- 
ing him to choose between two roads, and trusting 
that he might take the wrong one. 

Down the declivity her racer plunged while Ratigan 
was galloping down the one behind her. So steep 
was the road and so swift her horse's pace that the 
danger of death by mangling seemed greater than 
death by hanging. She reached the bottom, where the 
road ran level to the fork and the wood. Hope 
urged her. It was not a hundred yards to the point 
slie was so anxious to reach. 

There is a story of a wonderful one-horse shay, 
which had been made so perfectly that, no one part 
being weaker than the rest, it never gave out till at 
last the whole collapsed together. Miss Baggs' buggy 
was one she had found in a countryman's barn, and 
had been donated to the cause. It had been an 
excellent vehicle in its day, though when she acquired 
it, was in extreme old age. Its forlorn appearance 
suited her purpose admirably, and after numerous 
tests she had come to place greater reliance on its 
endurance than on that of a newer conveyance. But 
there came a time when if no part would give way all 
must give way. That time was now at hand. Pass- 
ing over a rut at the very fork of the road that seemed 
her only chance for escape, the old buggy gave a dis- 
mal groan, as much in sympathy with the mistress it 
had served so well, as a death rattle, and flew into a 
hundred pieces. 



CORPORAL RATIGAN had been worked up to 
such a fever of excitement by the chase and his 
complicated feelings toward the object of it, that when 
he shot over the rise in the ground that hid the fugi- 
tive from his view, his visage was distorted from the 
expression of good nature usually stamped upon it to 
one which can only be called demoniac. His eyes 
were wild; that portion of his hair which extended 
below his forage cap seemed to glow with unusual 
redness; his body leaned forward like a jockey in a 
race — the whole forming a picture of eager ferocity. 
In short, Corporal Ratigan resembled an escaped 
lunatic chasing a flying fiend who had been torturing 

On the crest of the second rise he strained his eyes 
after Miss Baggs. Nothing appeared to denote her 
presence on the landscape except a horse in harness, 
which he dragged in the dust, trotting back toward a 
heap of rubbish on the road. A sudden dread took 
possession of the corporal. It was plainly evident 
there had been an accident. He had been chasing a 
Confederate telegraph stealer, that he might turn her 
over to the military, authorities of his own army to be 
hanged, and now he was suddenly plunged into terror 
for fear she had been killed. He went on, but with 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 2 5 

a new object distinct in his mind. It was not to 
injure Miss Baggs, but to succor her. 

He soon came to the heap of splinters and iron 
which marked the point of collapse of Miss Baggs' 
buggy. Miss Baggs was not visible. Had she taken 
to the wood beyond the fork of the road? For a 
moment there was a delightful sense of relief, but it 
was soon followed by the animal instinct of the savage 
chasing an object of prey. Stimulated by this or a 
return of a sense of duty, or both, he was about to 
ride into the wood, when looking down on the long 
grass by the roadside he descried the unconscious 
body, the face apparently white in death, of the 
woman he sought. 

In a moment the corporal was off his horse and on 
his knees beside her. The chase in which he had 
been so eager, and the cause, were both forgotten on 
seeing Miss Baggs lying apparently cold in death at 
his feet. 

"Darlin", are ye hurt?" 

There was agony in the corporal's voice. He put an 
arm under her head to raise it; with the other he 
grasped her hands. 

"To the divil's own keeping with the war anyway. 
What's 't good for, except to injure innocent women 
and children?" 

In that non-resistance of unconsciousness he forgot 
that this woman had been engaged in what the world 
condemns openly, if not secretly, as illegitimate war- 
fare. To him she was innocent. Not that he rea- 
soned upon her acts, but because a mysterious some- 
thing — a breath from spirit land — had made her more 

1 2 6 CHICK A MA UGA . 

to him than all the world beside. He laid his head 
down upon her breast to listen if the heart beat; he 
chafed her hands and arms; he took off his cap and 
fanned her. Still she lay limp in his arms without a 
sign of life. 

"Darlin', darlin', come back to life. Come back, 
if it's only long enough to tell nie ye forgive me for 
me cowardly chasen ye. Oi've killed ye. Oi know 't. 
Oi wish some one would run a bayonet through me 
own rotten heart. 

A slight murmur, something like a groan, escaped 

"Praise God there's life! If it 'd only grow 
stronger. Ah, thank Heaven! there's water! " 

Laying her head down in the grass, he went to the 
side of the road where there was a runnel of clear 
water. Scooping some of it in his two hands he 
threw it in her face. 

She opened her eyes. 

Corporal Ratigan never forgot the look with Avhich 
his prisoner regarded him when she recognized who 
he was. There were two expressions following each 
other rapidly — the first, reproach ; but when she 
noticed the pain with which it was received, it melted 
into one of tenderness. 

"Ah, Rats," she exclaimed faintly, "how could 
you do it?" 

He put his great hands — brown from exposure — 
before his eyes to shut out the face which at every 
glance kindled some new emotion to rack him. Now 
that she had come to life, another terror came to him 
to administer an added torture. He knew that 


mounted men were following, that they would soon 
appear over the crest just behind them, that his pris- 
oner would be taken, tried, and condemned. 

"They're comen ! They'll be here in a jiffy!" he 
cried wildly. "Tell me that ye forgive me; tell me 
that ye don't hate me as I hate meself, " 

"For doing your duty, Rats?" 

"Duty! Is it a man's duty to run down a woman 
like a hare? Don't talk to me of duty. If ye suffer 
for this, Oi'll desert and go. back to Oirland; and 
God be praised if He'll send a storm to sink the ship 
and me in it." 

Corporal Ratigan was talking incoherently. He 
was so tortured by the position in which he had 
placed a woman who, he had now suddenly discov- 
ered, had captured his heart from the first moment he 
saw her, that a torrent of words, unmeaning of any- 
thing save his agony, poured out from his lips like 
bullets from a repeating rifie. 

"There's a drop in me canteen — a drop of whisky. 
Will ye take it, darlin' — I mean — I don't know what 
I'm talken about. Let me put it to ye'r lips. Take 
a swallow. It'll revive ye. No?" She appeared to 
be passing back to unconsciousness. "Take it for 
moi sake, sweetheart. Only take a good swallow an' 
ye'U be righted." 

She opened her eyes. Evidently she had heard. 
There was an expression on her face indicating that 
his words had produced that effect upon her which 
might be expected in a woman who hears a strong 
man, unconsciously and unintentionally, declaring his 

1 2 8 Chick AM A uga. 

"Why do you wish me to live, Rats? Don't let me 
live. If you do I'll die on the gibbet." 

"Oh, darlin'," he moaned, "don't be talking that 
way. Oi'U die meself first. Oi'll raise a mutiny. 
Oi'll " 

He could not go on. His words mocked him. He 
well knew their futility. "Take a drop, sweetheart; 
only a drop for moi sake." 

What a change from the day he had jokingly asked 
her to take an oath for "moi sake." 

"For your sake, Rats; give it to me." 

He put the neck of a battered tin canteen to her 
lips and she drank a little of the liquid. It produced 
a beneficial change at once. A tinge of color came to 
her cheek and she breathed more easily. 

"Now if ye'r buggy were only sound," he said. 
"I'd put ye in it an' ye could go on. Oi'd ride back 
and throw them from the scent — the hounds!" 

"No, you wouldn't, Rats. You're an honorable 
soldier. You have done your duty, and when put 
face to face with it another time you will do it 

"For God's sake, don't tell me Oi'll iver do me 
duty when it brings death or destruction to you." 

"You will, Rats." 

"Niver. Oi'll brain the man that dares lay a fin- 
ger on ye, if it's Old Rosey himself." 

A clattering of horses' hoofs, a clanking of sabres, 
mounted figures standing out against the morning sky 
on the crest behind them, and three cavalrymen are 
dashing on to where lies Miss Baggs and kneels the 


"Promise me, Rats, that you will do nothing fool- 
ish," she asked pleadingly. 

"O God! O'im going to draw me revolver on 


"I can't." 

"¥ or f not sake, Rats." 

The faintest trace of a smile, despite her desperate 
situation, passed over her face as she imitated the cor- 
poral's pronunciation. The quaint humor, mingled 
with so many singular traits prominent in her that 
could show itself at so critical a moment, touched a 
responsive Irish chord in his Irish heart and brought 
him to terms. 

"For your sake, darlin', Oi'll do 't," he said, in a 
despairing voice. 

There was scarcely time for him to speak the words 
— indeed they were whispered with his lips touching 
her ear — when the three cavalrymen rode up to where 
the two were. 

"What's it all about, corporal?" asked one of 

"I found this — this lady — lying here. Her buggy 
is broken — she is badly hurt." The corporal spoke 
the words haltingly and drops of sweat stood out on 
his forehead. 

"Who is she?" 

"Well — that's to be found out some other time. 
One of ye'd better ride back for an ambulance and a 

"Never mind the surgeon," said Miss Baggs, 


"Well, bring the ambulance anyway," said Ratl- 
gan. "Ye can all go back if ye like. Oi'll stay with 
her. She's me own prisoner." 

"There's no need of all going," said the man who 
had spoken. "I'll go myself." 

He turned and rode away, while the others dis- 
mounted and threw the reins of their bridles over a 
fence rail. One of them caught Bobby Lee, who 
was cropping the grass near by, occasionally looking 
up as though suspicious that something had hap- 
pened. The men loitered about, now and then 
approaching to take a look at the prisoner, but soon 
turning away again, quite willing to be free from the 
responsibility which Corporal Ratigan seemed dis- 
posed to take upon himself. 

"Rats," said Miss Baggs, who was now rapidly 
recovering strength and coolness, "it will not be long 
before I shall be separated from you. Before then I 
wish to thank you for the kindness, the interest, even 
the tenderness with which you have treated a fallen 
enemy. And I wish to ask your forgiveness for the 
deception I practiced on you once when you were 
deputed to see me through the lines." 

"What was that compared with what Oi've done?" 
he moaned. 

"Do you forgive me?" 

"Oi do. But Oi've nothing to forgive." 

"And, Rats, you have unconsciously let me know 
that you — you feel more kindly toward me than " 

"You've robbed me of me heart intirely." 

"Well, I'm both glad and sorry. It is delightful to 
be loved, but sad to think that your very love must 

CHICK A MA tlCA . 131 

make you grieve. Our meetings have been few and 
strange — very strange, " she added musingly. "Who 
are you, Rats? I know you are well-born. I can see 
it in every word and motion." 

"Oi'm second son of Sir Thomas Ratigan, Es- 
quire, of County Cavan, Oirland. At his death me 
older brother succeeded to the estate. So I came to 
America to shift for meself. A year ago Oi enlisted 
in the Union ranks and here Oi am. Oi wish to God 
me brother was in his coffin and Oi in possession of the 
estates, that Oi could give them all to save your life." 

"No, no. Rats. You area soldier and an honor- 
able man. Remember what I have told you. You 
will do your duty hereafter as you have done it here- 
tofore. Your words in that respect are meaningless. 
Your sense of honor will always triumph over your 
sympathy when that sympathy is alloyed with dis- 
honor. For this I have conceived for you an un- 
bounded respect. Perhaps — were I not so soon to 
be " 

"Don't speak 't; for God's sake don't speak 't." 

"Well, Rats, we will try, for the brief time we shall 
be together, to fix our minds on a pleasant picture. 
Let us think of that day when the South will be inde- 
pendent, or at least when North and South will be at 
peace. This region, now trodden by soldiers wearing 
.the blue and the gray, will be given up to those simple 
people who till the soil. Instead of the sound of 
shotted guns there will be the lowing of cattle. In- 
stead of the singing of minie balls there will be the 
songs of birds. There will be peace, blessed peace. 
Oh, if I could only live to see it. Then perhaps I 

1 3 2 CHICK A MA UGA. 

may take you by the hand and say to you But, 

Rats, this can never be for us. It is only a fancy 
picture I've drawn to relieve that terrible suffering I 
see in your face. You've aged ten years in as many 
minutes. Don't look at me in that dreadful way, I 
can't bear it." 

The two cavalrymen's backs were turned. They 
were strolling toward the woods. Ratigan put his 
arms about her and both yielded to a long embrace. 
There were no more words spoken. Words would 
have added nothing to what both felt. There was 
more pain and more pleasure concentrated in the 
bosom of each than had been there in all the years 
they had lived. 


"turned over." 

I^^HERE was a rattling of wheels on the soft road, 
. and looking up, Ratigan saw the messenger return- 
ing, followed by an ambulance. Driving to Miss 
Baggs, who was still lying in the grass, the driver 
backed it up to her, while the messenger dismounted 
and opened the door. The cavalrymen stood ready 
to lift the prisoner into the vehicle. But Miss Baggs 
waved them all away except the corporal, and taking 
his hand rose to her feet and stood for a moment sup- 
ported by him. The effort was too much for her ; her 
head fell on his shoulder, and for a moment she lost 
consciousness. Ratigan took her off her feet and, 
lifting her into the ambulance, laid her on the cush- 

"Oi'll ride at the foot," he said to the others. 
"One of ye lead me horse." 

The men were relieved at this proposition ; for the 
care of a woman in such a condition was by no means 
pleasing, and they feared she might die before they 
could get her into camp, and turn her over to some 
one else. Ratigan sat at the foot of the vehicle, with 
his feet on the step, while the men, seeing that their 
prisoner was in no condition to escape, besides being 
guarded by the corporal, gave her no especial care, 
riding together some twenty paces ahead. 


134 ChIcKamaVGa. 

"Darlin*," whispered Ratigan, as soon as they 
were out of hearing. 

She opened her eyes. He leaned forward and 
caught one of her hands. It was cold as ice. 

"Ah, Rats, where am I? Where are you taking 

"Don't ask me," he answered with a groan. "Are 
ye better?" 

"Oh, yes. I'm not badly hurt. I'm bruised, and 
I've had a shock. But what matters it how I am?" 

"If it were only night, ye might slip out and 

"But it isn't night. Rats, and you are guarding 

"A fine guard I'd make if there were a chance for 
ye to get out of this." 

She gave a groan as the driver carelessly passed 
over a rut. 

"You wouldn't see me go, when your duty is — to 
keep me? would you, Rats?" she asked languidly and 

"Not I. I'd shut me eyes as tight as iver I 

They came to the place where each had succes- 
sively emerged from the camp through which Ratigan 
had followed her before daylight, and found the road 
lined with soldiers, whose curiosity brought them there 
to see the woman who had succeeded in breaking 
through a whole chain of guards. They had all heard 
of the exploit, and crowded around tlie ambulance as 
it passed, but were kept away by the guards in attend- 
ance, who dropped back to the sides and rear. This 
prevented any further conversation between Ratigan 


and Miss Baggs, except an occasional whisper; but the 
corporal managed to keep her hand in his under a blan- 
ket, unobserved. At last the ambulance pulled up be- 
fore the headquarters of the division whose camp they 
had entered, and Ratigan suddenly became conscious 
of the fact that he must turn his prisoner over to others, 
doubtless to be dealt with summarily, for he well knew 
the case would naturally receive prompt attention. 

"Oh, darlin'," he exclaimed, "Oi must part with 
ye. What'U Oi do?" 

"Keep steady, Rats. You couldn't help it. It 
was fated." She cast her 
eyes mournfully, but with the light of faith in them, 
upward. "I only regret that my people will receive 
no benefit in my death." 

An officer, with a captain's shoulder straps, came out 
from headquarters and surveyed the ambulance. He 
was a dapper little fellow, fat and red-faced. 

"Who've you got there?" he asked of Ratigan. 

"A lady, sir." 

"The woman who ran the guards last night?" 

*'0i captured her on the road below." 

"H'm. The guard duty of this division is in a fine 
condition when a woman can run a whole chain of 
sentinels. Get her out o' that." 

"She's badly hurt, captain," said Ratigan, who had 
stepped down onto the ground and saluted. 

"I can alight," said Miss Baggs feebly. And get- 
ting as best she could to the door of the ambulance, 
Ratigan helped her out. She looked faint, but stood 
by the aid of the corporal's arm. 

"Take her in to the general," said the little cap- 
tain; "he wants to see her." 


As the tent was an ordinary wall tent, there was no 
great room in it. Miss Baggs went inside, while the 
corporal stood directly outside with his hand on the 
tent pole. 

"What's she been up to, corporal?" asked the gen- 
eral, a man who seemed to realize perfectly the 
importance attaching to his position. 

"How do Oi know, general? Oi simply chased 
her and caught her." 

"Have you anything to say for yourself?" asked 
the general of the prisoner. 


"What were you doing, corporal, when you gave 

"Guarding the telegraph line." 

"And what was she doing; taking off dispatches?" 

"Oi didn't see her doen 't, general." 

"I must have you searched," said the general to 
the prisoner. Then he added, somewhat hesitatingly, 
"it's rather awkward not having a woman in camp." 

"I will relieve you of the necessity," said the pris- 
oner with dignity; and putting her hand into her 
pocket she drew forth a bundle of papers which she 
handed to him. 

"What are these?" asked the surprised commander. 

"Copies of intercepted telegrams." 

The general uttered an exclamation, and taking the 
papers ran them over with his eye. 

He looked up at the woman, who, save for the pallor 
occasioned by her fall from the collapsed buggy, stood 
apparently unmoved. There was admiration in the 
eye of the man who gazed at her. He could not but 


wonder at the daring that had enabled her to remain 
within the Union lines sufficiently long to capture 
dispatches bearing dates from June to the middle of 
September; he was astonished at the coolness with 
which she handed him documents that would warrant 
his hanging her to a tree without a moment's delay; 
and above all there was about her a divine conscious- 
ness of having done a duty, a look of triumph under 
defeat that compelled his reverence, as well as his 

"Are you aware," he said, "that with these dis- 
patches in your possession, and beyond our lines, you 
would hold this army at your mercy?" 

"I am." 

"And that captured with them on your person your 
life is forfeited?" 


There are people who cannot brook a steady stand 
in one who may be naturally expected to break down 
in their presence. The general was one of these. In 
proportion as he admired her firmness, was his desire 
to force her to show some giving way. He did not 
analyze his feelings and attribute his desire to any 
such cause; he yielded to it without realizing that the 
cause existed. 

"The natural method of procedure in this case," 
he said, looking at her sternly, "is for me to report 
your capture and the circumstances attending it to 
headquarters. Do you remember the case of the two 
Confederate spies captured when this army was in 
front of Murfreesboro, during the past summer?" 

"I have heard something of it." 

1 3 8 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"Two Confederate officers came into our lines in 
United States uniform, one of them bearing forged 
papers as inspector-general in the United States army. 
They left the colonel, whose lines they first entered, 
at evening, to go on their tour of inspection. Sus- 
pecting something wrong, they were recalled and 
detained while the case was reported. Word came 
back that there were no such officers in the United 
States army; that they were doubtless spies, and the 
colonel was directed to try them by "drum-head" 
court-martial and hang them at daylight the next 
morning, or instructed to that effect."* 

While the general spoke he watched his prisoner 

"But how does this concern me, general?" she 
asked calmly. 

A slight color came to his cheek at this failure to 
impress her. 

"I will tell you, since you do not seem in a state of 
mind to readily draw conclusions. I report your case 
to headquarters. Word comes back to try you by 
'drum-head' court-martial and hang you to-morrow 


"Well, that is the end of the story." 

There was silence for a few moments, while they 
regarded each other. 

"It is «^/ the end of the story, general. The story 

of a life has no end. Death is but a transition. I 

shall pass through it, as a chrysalis is transformed. 

It pleases the Great Commander to assign me a fruit- 

* A historical fact. 


less task. It is not for me to ask why. I am but one 
of His soldiers, fighting with my brothers — for my 

She had conquered. There was something so forci- 
ble in her words, something so truly grand in her 
manner, that the man who would break her spirit 
desisted. He regarded her admiringly and was 

"All I ask, general," she said presently, seeing 
that he did not speak, "is that there be no greater 
delay than necessary. Now I have a strength which 
may be worn away by long waiting, with death staring 
me in the face." 

Still the officer did not speak. He was thinking — 
thinking how he could get rid of so unpleasant a duty 
as the trial and execution of this splendid woman. 
He feared that should he report her capture to head- 
quarters, he would get the same reply as in the case 
he had cited. 

"/will not harm you," he said presently. "Some 
one else must take the responsibility of this complica- 
tion of death and a woman." 

"It does not matter who does the work, so long as 
it must be done." 

"Perhaps not to you. It matters a great deal to 
me. My hands are clean; I don't care to stain 

While this conversation was going on Corporal 
Ratigan was listening and observing the speakers 
with a palpitating heart. There was something so cold 
cut in the general's tones that the corporal felt a 
repugnance at his prisoner being in his especial keep- 


ing. He preferred that she should be sent to some 
one else, and was relieved when he announced his 
intention to shift the responsibility. Besides, the 
corporal hoped that he would himself be intrusted 
with her keeping until she should arrive at some camp 
where the commander would be willing to receive her. 

"Shall Oi take her to headquarters, general?" he 

"Ah, my man," said the general, as though awak- 
ened from a reverie, "are you here? I had forgotten 

"Oi can conduct her to headquarters if you desire 
it, general." 

"I am not in the habit of receiving suggestions 
from my brigade or regimental commanders, much 
less a corporal." 

Ratigan saw tliat he had made a mistake and said 
nothing. The general regarded him with his shrewd 
eyes. It was plain to him that the man was inter- 
ested in his prisoner. 

"Corpora], you may go to your camp." 

"Yes, sir." 

The corporal brought his hand up in salute. His 
soldierly deference was all that he could give to the 
general; his heart, his eyes, were all for the pr'soner. 
He stood for a moment with his hand at his cap, 
while his glance, full of meaning, full of despair, 
rested on Miss Baggs. She returned it with one of 
encouragement. The weaker physical woman was 
supporting the stronger physical man. 

"Well, corporal, are you going?" 

"I am, sir." 


Yet for a moment the corporal could not withdraw 
his eyes. The order was imperative; the general was 
waiting. At last he turned abruptly, and strode away 
rapidly without once looking back. 

"Orderly," called the general to a man standing 
near, "take this woman to the ambulance." 

As Miss Baggs passed out the eyes of the two were 
fixed again on each other. While the general did not 
use words, he could not resist a last attempt with his 
presence, his masterful countenance, his piercing eyes, 
to overawe his prisoner. She met that gaze firmly, 
unflinchingly, till she was without the tent, then with 
a final glance of contempt she turned and walked 
toward the ambulance. 

The general called her back. 

"You do not seem well satisfied with my treatment 
of you," he said, in a tone in which there was some- 
thing of sarcasm. "We soldiers must do our duty." 

"It is not your doing your duty, general, that fails 
to win my respect; it is that you have not the manli- 
ness to do it yourself, but must needs put it upon 
some one else." 

Again the two pairs of eyes met and clashed. The 
victory was with the woman. The general lowered 
his to the ground. 

"You may go," he said. 

As soon as she was gone he went to a tent where 
there were writing materials, and wrote a note, which 
he sealed and addressed. Giving it to the little cap- 
tain he directed him to send it, with the prisoner and 
the dispatches captured on her, to the officer whose 
name was on the envelope. 



IT was eight o'clock in the morning. Colonel May- 
nard pushed back the tent flap, intending to step 
outside and go to the mess tent for breakfast. The 
brightness of the morning seemed reflected in his coun- 
tenance. His step was firm, his bearing full of 
youthful, manly vigor. He had been rapidly gaining 
the confidence of his officers, and was coming to be 
admired and beloved by his men. All misgivings as 
to his fitness for his responsible position had melted 
away. Colonel Mark Maynard was the man most to 
be envied of those no older than himself in the Army 
of the Cumberland. 

He had scarcely passed from his tent when, glancing 
down the road beside which his camp was located, his 
attention was arrested by an ambulance coming slowly 
along driven by a man in a soldier's blouse and smok- 
ing a short clay pipe. On either side rode a cavalry- 
man. The colonel paused to watch the coming 
vehicle and its attendants. Had it not been guarded 
he would have supposed it to contain a sick soldier 
going to hospital. As it was, it must either hold an 
officer of high rank or a sick or wounded prisoner. 
Whatever it contained, there came to the man watch- 
ing it an uncomfortable feeling that it was in some 
way a link between himself and misfortune. The 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 43 

bright, happy look of a moment before disappeared, to 
be replaced by a troubled expression, though he 
could not have given a reason for foreboding. When 
the ambulance stopped opposite his tent he muttered 
with a knitted brow: 

"What does this mean?" 

One of the attendants dismounted, went to the door 
of the ambulance, opened it, and handed out a woman, 
who descended to the ground with some difficulty, as 
though in a weakened condition. The two then came 
directly to where Colonel Maynard was standing. 

The woman was attired in a striped calico dress; 
her head and face were bare. The colonel knew at a 
glance that he had seen her before, but could not tell 
where. She walked slowly, for she seemed scarcely 
able to drag herself along, and he had time to study 
her features as she came on. The two stopped before 
him; the soldier saluted, and drawning an envelope 
from his belt handed it to Colonel Maynard. The 
colonel took it without looking at it. He was still 
studying the features of the woman. 

"A communication from General , colonel," 

said the man who handed him the paper. As the 
soldier spoke Colonel Maynard recognized the woman 
he had met at Mrs. P'ain's. His hand trembled as he 
grasped the envelope and tore it open. 

Headquarters Division, 

Army of the Cumberland, 

In the Field, September — , 1862. 
Colonel Mark Maynard, 

Commanding th Cavalry Brigade. 

Colonel : I send you a voman who this morning was 
caught tampering with the telegraph line, and who 


has evidently been taking off our dispatches. Being 
in transit and about to move on this morning, I take 
the liberty of sending her to you under guard, with the 
suggestion that you do with her as seems best to you. 
I have use for the limited number of men present for 
duty on my escort, and this is my apology for trou- 
bling you. Yours is the nearest command to which I 
can send her. 

I am very respectfully 

Your ob't serv't, 

Brig. Gen. 

Colonel Maynard read the missive over twice, 
slowly, without looking up. He had not read a 
dozen words before he knew that he held in his pos- 
session one whose life was forfeited as his own life 
had been forfeited to the Confederates a year before. 
His keeping his eyes on the paper was to gain time — 
to avoid speaking when his utterance was choked with 
a strange emotion. His thoughts were far away. He 
stood on the bank of the Tennessee River, below 
Chattanooga. It was in the gray of the morning. 
He saw a skiff tied to the shore. He jumped down 
to seize it and found himself among a group of Con- 
federate soldiers. Personating a member of General 
Bragg's staff, he commanded them to row him across 
the river. They started to obey. As they left the 
shore, suddenly a boat swung around Moccasin Point. 
It was full of armed men. He was taken back to 
Chattanooga, tried, and condemned to be hanged for 
a spy. 

All this passed before his mind's eye as he stood 
pretending to study the communication before him. 


Not this bare statement of it, but each detail, each 
feeling of hope, fear, despair, as they rapidly suc- 
ceeded each other from the moment of his capture 
till his escape and safe return to the Union lines. 

Looking up at last with an expression of commiser- 
ation which surprised the prisoner, he said: 

"Madam, will you please accept my heartfelt sym- 

Miss Baggs, who had already recognized Colonel 
Maynard, simply bowed her head in acknowledgment 
without speaking, but fixing her large dark eyes upon 
his. When placed in a similar position Maynard had 
met his enemy's glance with affected coolness, in a 
vain hope of deception. Not so the woman before 
him. The time for deception had passed with her. 
She was a Charlotte Corday, knowing that the guillo- 
tine awaited her — a martyr in whose eyes gleamed the 
divine light of a willing sacrifice to a cause she be- 
lieved to be sacred. 

The colonel spoke again : 

"Madam," he said, "it is my duty to report your 
case to my commanding officer for transmission to the 
headquarters of this army. There is a little house 
across the road; if you are able to go there, you will 
be more comfortable while we are awaiting the 

"As you like, colonel." 

"Perhaps it would be better to use the ambu- 

"I can walk. I would prefer it." 

"Will you accept of my assistance?" 

She took his offered arm and the two walked slowly 

i 4 ^ CHICK A MA VGA . 

toward a farmhouse a few hundred yards distant. As 
the colonel passed a sentry he directed him to have 
the officer of the guard summoned and sent to him. 
On reaching the house and mounting the few steps 
that led up to the door, they were received by a 
farmer's wife and ushered into a small sitting-room. 
Bowing to the prisoner, Colonel Maynard stepped 
outside to instruct the guard. It was not essential 
that he should hasten, but he did not feel equal to an 

After seeing a sentinel posted on each side of the 
house Maynard turned to go to his tent. He was 
drawn by some unaccountable instinct to look once 
more at the abode of his prisoner. She was gazing 
out at him, with a pair of eyes melancholy, unresist- 
ing, full of resignation. 

What fiend had suddenly thrown this beautiful 
woman, this queen of martyrs, into his keeping; with 
death staring 'her in the face, and he, perhaps, to 
inflict the penalty? Why, if he must suffer this turn- 
ing of the tables by Fate, could not the victim have 
been a man? some coarse creature who would die 
like a brute? And why had it not come upon him 
before love had introduced him to that instinctive 
delicacy, that gentleness, those finer heart impulses of 
woman ? 

"OGod!" he murmured, "suppose — suppose she 
were — Laura?" 

He could not bear to look, and could not turn 
away. For a few moments the two gazed upon each 
other, while the woman's natural feminine discern- 
ment told her that she was pitied; told her something 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 4 1 

of what Maynard suffered ; that her enemy was really 
her friend. She gave him a faint smile in recogni- 

There was something in the smile that was even 
harder for him to endure than had she shed a tear. 
Hers was a winning smile, and her position was so 
desperate. She was so brave, so ready to sacrifice for 
her struggling people. She bore her trial with such 
gentleness, yet with such firmness. 

She was a woman, and she tniist die. 

He turned almost fiercely and strode back to his 
tent. Reaching it, he found the man who had brought 
the prisoner, waiting for him. The soldier saluted 
and handed him another envelope. 

"Why did you not give me this with the other?" 
asked Maynard, surprised. 

"I handed it to you, colonel, but you did not see 

Maynard stared at the man without making any 
reply. He had been preoccupied, deprived of his 
ordinary faculties. Opening the envelope, he took 
out a small bundle of papers, on the back of which was 
endorsed : 

" Intercepted dispatches found on the person of Eliza- 
beth Baggs, captured September — th, 1863." 

Without looking at their contents he dismissed the 
man who had brought them, and turning, went into 
his tent. 

The hours were long while he waited the return of 
the messenger he sent to report the presence of the 
prisoner at his camp. He hoped that he would be 


directed to send her forward. Why had he not thought 
to do so, without first reporting her capture? Such 
a course would have been no shirking of a duty, and 
they would likely have kept her and attended to her 
case at headquarters. Now they might leave her with 
him. They might order him to try, and execute her. 
He ground the heel of his boot into the soil and cursed 
his want of forethought. 

"Orderly!" he cried. "Mount quick! Ride after 
the courier who went to headquarters — No. Never 
mind; it is too late; you couldn't overtake him." 

It was not too late for a courier to overtake the one 
who had gone, and Maynard knew it. He had sud- 
denly changed his mind. He had a vague dread at 
sending the prisoner away. While she was with him 
perhaps some way might be found to save her. In the 
hands of those who were not especially interested in 
her, her doom was sealed. No, he was not prepared 
to part with her. 

He paced back and forth in front of his tent like a 
sentry on post. The members of his staff saw that 
tliere was something unusual weighing on his naturally 
buoyant spirits, and left him to himself, not address- 
ing him on any matter, except of moment. It was 
necessary that his report should go first to division, 
then to corps, and then to general headquarters, and 
likely the answer would come back by the same rounds 
of the military step-ladder. And all this time he was 
obliged to wait, chafing like a caged lion. 

Miss Baggs' capture came at a very inopportune 
moment for any chance there might otherwise be for 
mercy. Following a retreating enemy, the Army of 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 49 

the Cumberland had acquired a dangerous confidence. 
The nature of its own offensive operations had ren- 
dered essential a separation of the three different corps 
of which it was composed. Bragg suddenly had 
taken a stand with his whole army at Lafayette, 
whence he could easily strike eith-er one of the Union 
corps in detail. A dread of disaster was coming to 
those Union generals, who, with a proper miliiary 
foresight, took in the situation. Besides, it was known 
that the Confederates were being heavily reinforced. 
Instead of the previous blind confidence a cold wave 
of solicitude crept over the Army of the Cumberland. 

It was noon before the courier sent to announce the 
capture of Miss Baggs rode up to Colonel Maynard's 
headquarters and handed him a dispatch. It was as 
Maynard feared. He was informed that in the pres- 
ent exigency the matter could not be given attention 
at general headquarters, but it was deemed important 
to deal summarily with spies, be they male or female. 
He was therefore ordered to convene a "drum-head" 
court-martial, try the prisoner, and if found guilty ex- 
ecute the sentence, whatever it might be, without 

When Colonel Maynard read this order every ves- 
tige of color left his face. He could not believe the 
evidence of his senses. Was it possible that he, Mark 
Maynard, once condemned to be executed for a spy, 
was called upon to superintend the trial and the exe- 
cution which would doubtless follow, of another, for 
the same offense, and that other a woman? Yet there 
were the instructions duly signed "By order," and 
only one meaning could be attached. He held it 

i 5 o CHICK A MA VGA . 

listlessly in his hand for a while, and then handed it 
to his chief of staff. 

"At what hour shall the court come together, 

"I presume at once. The order so directs; doesn't 

"How about the witnesses?" 

"You will have to send to the source from which 
the prisoner came to us." 

"In that event I will fix the hour for three o'clock 
this afternoon. The judge advocate will require a 
little time to prepare the charges and specifications." 

"As you think best." 

Colonel Maynard turned and went into his tent. 
Hours passed and he did not come out. "The colo- 
nel is in trouble," said one. "They say he was once 
in the secret service himself," said another. "Then 
he knows how it is to be in such a fix as the woman 
up in that house." "He's been there." "It was at 
Chattanooga a year ago. They say he brought the 
news of Bragg's advance into Kentucky." "Well, if 
he has to execute a sentence of death on a spy, and 
that spy a woman, I wouldn't be in his boots for the 
shoulder straps of a major general." 

And so the comments went on while the colonel 
kept his tent and Miss Baggs peered dreamily out of 
the window, watched by guards. 



WHEN Corporal Ratigan left Miss Baggs with the 
general, to whom he had unwillingly conducted 
her, he was in such a condition of mind that he forgot 
all about his horse and started to walk toward his 
camp. When a cavalryman shows such evidence of 
absence of mind, it is a sure sign that he is in a con- 
dition bordering on insanity. Ratigan walked some 
distance before it occurred to him that he was pursu- 
ing an unusual means of locomotion; then he turned 
back to get his horse. When he arrived at the place 
from which he had departed. Miss Baggs had gone. 
Mounting, he rode to his own camp, and upon reach- 
ing there he first went directly to his tent ; then, shun- 
ning his comrades, stole away to a wood and threw 
himself on his face in the shade of a large tree, and 
gave himself up to grief. 

It is difificult to recognize in this lugubrious person 
the man who half a dozen hours before was dashing 
on in a mad chase after the very woman whose capture 
now so distressed him. But the transitions of war are 
rapid and unexpected. Its lights are brighter, its 
shadows far deeper than in ordinary life. Then to 
the corporal had come that greatest of all complica- 
tions, a moving of the luiman heart. For months he 
had dreamed of Betsy Baggs ; he had found himself 

1 5 2 CHICK A MA UGA . 

thinking of her in his waking hours, on the march, 
on picket, amid the roaring of guns. He had sought 
to banish that picture of her standing in her buggy 
after having duped him, which had so long haunted 
him, and had failed. But Corporal Ratigan had 
never been in love, and was entirely unacquainted 
with the symptoms. Suddenly circumstances had 
brought about an interview with her under a strange 
situation. Then he had discovered what it was that 
had been tormenting him so long. 

The corporal, lying on his face, unmindful of the 
sweet rustling of the leaves above him, his mind 
tossed hither and thither by Miss Baggs of the past. 
Miss Baggs of the present, Miss Baggs whom he had 
been instrumental in capturing, and Miss Baggs 
treated as a spy, was not the soldier he had been. 
From a man of brass, he had become a man of clay. 

"O Lord, O Lord," he moaned, "if they'd organ- 
ized corps of lovely women to be attached to each 
division of the army and the enemy, there'd be no more 
fighting for either cause. Each would fight the other 
about the women and the cause would have to take 
care of itself." 

"Corporal Ratigan!" 

The corporal put his hands to his ears and groaned. 

''Corporal Ratigan, I say." 

Still the corporal would not hear. He knew that 
some one was approaching, for whether he would or 
not he could not help hearing his name called, each 
time more distinctly. Presently a soldier stood look- 
ing down at him. 

"Corporal Ratigan," he said, "ye'r wanted at the 

chickamauga: i53 

headquarters of Colonel Maynard, commanding the 
th brigade." 

"What's that for?" asked the corporal, without 
changing his position. 

"Witness for court-martial." 

WHiy will people ask questions explanatory of dis- 
agreeable events or misfortunes, the answers to which 
they know well enough already? And why, when the 
information comes, will they deny its truth? 

"If ye say that again, Conover, Oi'll brake every 
bone in ye'r body." 

"What's the mather wid ye, corporal?" 

Ratigan by this time had got up from the ground, 
where he was lying, and approached his tormentor. 

"Don't ask me, Conover, me boy." 

"Why, Rats, ye're looken as if ye were goen to be 
tried ye'rself." 

"Tried? Oi'm to suffer on the rack as one o' me 
ancesters did once in the old Tower in I>unnon." 

"How's that?" 

"Oh, don't ask me, don't ask me. Oi can niver 
endure this trial. Oi'll doi, Oi'll doi." 

"Come, brace ye'rself, me boy. Ye're in no 
condition to be goen before a court. What is it all, 

"What is it all? A woman to be tried for her 
life. And I caught her. Oi'm to bear witness 
against her. O God, if they'd let me off by tying me 
up by the thumbs, bucking and gagging, carrying a 
log on me shoulders, drummed out o' camp with 
shaved head and feathers behind me ears, Lord, 
O Lord, Oi'll doi, Oi'll doi." 

154 'CHICK A MA UGA . 

The corporal mounted his horse and was soon jog- 
ging along at a snail's pace toward Colonel Maynard's 
headquarters. There was a problem in his brain 
which he was revolving. It was the question of leav- 
ing the case of the United States versus Elizabeth 
Biggs without a witness. This, of course, meant 
desertion. Desertion meant, if caught, being riddled 
by a file of his own comrades. This did not impress 
Ratigan so unfavorably, considering the terrible con- 
dition of mind he was in, but he doubted if this 
course would save Miss Baggs. If his desertion, even 
should it result in his own ignominous death, would 
save the life of the woman who was to be tried that 
afternoon, he would desert at once. But there were 
the dispatches found on her person. Why did neither 
of them think to destroy them? Miss Baggs certainly 
would have thought of it, except for two reasons: 
First, she had been dazed by her fall; second, there 
were love passages going on at the time the work 
should have been done, between her and Ratigan, 
which occupied the attention of both to the exclusion 
of all else. Ratigan put his good sense in command 
and it told him that his desertion would probably not 
save Miss Baggs. Then he remembered her singular 
confidence that he would in any event do his duty, 
and her wish that he should do it. This settled the 
matter and the corporal was saved from the ignominy 
of desertion. He rode on and dismounted at the 
house where the court was already assembled. 

"Corporal Ratigan, you're late," said the president 

The corporal saluted, but said nothing. He was 


directed to wait till some preliminaries had been 
disposed . of, and he took position in a corner. It 
needed all the strength of which he was possessed to 
maintain himself on his legs, and he tried to keep his 
eyes from looking about the court room. He feared 
that if they rested on the prisoner, even for a moment, 
he would sink down on the floor, a heap of blue uni- 
form and boots. Nevertheless the eyes will not 
always be controlled. Despite his efforts, Ratigan's 
gave involuntary glances here and there, until sud- 
denly they rested on the object they were expected to 
avoid, sitting opposite, surrounded by guards, pale, 
but self-possessed, and a pair of glorious eyes looking 
at him with such sympathy and encouragement that 
the poor man felt as if the windows of Heaven had 
been opened and an angel was looking out to give hnn 
strength. Once his eyes were riveted on hers there 
was no getting them away, until he was suddenly 
aroused by a voice, 

"Corporal Ratigan!" 

Mechanically he staggered to a place designated as 
a witness-stand, and holding on to the back of a chair 
steadied himself to give his testimony. 

"State how you first saw the prisoner tampering 
with the telegraph line on yesterday morning, Sep- 
tember — th," said the judge advocate, an officer very 
tall, very slender, and very serious looking. 

"Oi didn't see her at all." 


"It was too dark to see anything." 

"Well, state what you did see." 

"I only thought I saw something." 

1 5 6 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"Come, come," said the president sternly, "we 
have no time to waste; tell the story of the capture." 

Thus commanded, the corporal braced himself to 
give the desired account. 

"Oi was riding to camp — after having posted the 
relief, and coming along the road — it was the road Oi 

was coming along, Oi — Oi Colonel, it was so 

dark none of ye could have seen ye'r hand before ye'r 
face." The corporal stopped and gave evidence of 
sinking on the floor. 

"Well, go on." 

"There was something black in the road, or by the 
side of 't. Oi stopped to listen. Then Oi thought 
some one might be tampering with the line — mind ye, 
Oi only thought it — and Oi called on whoiver it was 
to surrender. Then Oi heard a 'get up,' and what- 
iver it was dashed off. Oi followed it as fast as iver 
Oi could, calling on 'em to stop, and firing me 
Colt. Divil a bit did anyone stop." 

The corporal paused again. It looked as if he 
were not going to get any further. 

' 'Go on, my man." 

"Well, then we came to the camp of General 's 

division, and I was halted by the guards, while what 
Oi had seen got ahead. So Oi lost sight of it en- 


"Well wasn't it the fault of the guards stopping me 
and letting the other go on — and no fault of mine?" 


"What's the use of going on? Oi lost sight of 
what was tampering with the wires," 


"But you overtook it." 

"How can I swear it was the same?" 

There was a smile on the faces of those present. 
The questioner seemed puzzled at the corporal's 
device to avoid testifying against the prisoner. 

"Did you not ride on and overtake what you had 

"Divil a bit." 

"I know better. You went on and found some- 
thing in the road. What did you find?" 

"Oi didn't find what I'd seen." 

"What had you seen?" 

"Didn't Oi tell ye it was so dark that I couldn't 
see anything?" 

"That won't do, corporal; you certainly followed 
something. Now, on coming up with it, what did you 
find it to be?" 

"It wasn't what Oi followed. That, whatever it 
was, had gone out with the morning light. Oi reckon 
it was something ghostly." 

"Nonsense. Did you not find the prisoner lying in 
the grass?" 

"Oi did," replied the witness, as if his heart would 
break, and he again showed signs of collapse. 

"And you had reason to believe it was the person 
driving the buggy you followed?" 

"I didn't see any buggy. It was so dark " 

"Well" — impatiently — "the person driving what- 
ever it was you saw." 

"How could I know that?" 

"It was natural to infer that, there being a horse and 
buggy near, the prisoner had been driving it." 


"There was no buggy." 

"Well, the pieces." 

"Nov/, I would ask the court," said Ratigan, steady- 
ing himself to impress the members with the proba- 
bility of his position, "if the person or whatever it 
was I saw tampering with the wire moighten't have 
turned off on another road an' Oi suddenly lighted on 
this one." 

"That'll do, corporal; you may step out and give 
the next witness your place." 

The next witness was an officer from the camp to 
which the prisoner had first been taken after her cap- 
ture. He testified that upon a proposition to search 
her, she had voluntarily produced the dispatches, 
which were shown to him in court, and he identified 
them as the same as those she had given up. 

A reading of these dispatches was called for and 
they were read. 

In addition to those Miss Baggs deciphered when 
at the Fain plantation, were two others, which were as 

Crawfish Springs, Ga., 
September 14, 1863. 
Mobile Burton you when on has from other bob 
from reinforced Quadroon count us that to wet ap- 
plause will can your undoubtedly century points 
orange Benjamin and been coming we join * tele- 

* Key. The first word, " Mobile," denotes that there are seven 
lines and four columns. Begin at the top of the second ; down 
the second, up the first, down the third, up the fourth ; omitting 
every eighth word. 


Pinned to this telegram was a paper bearing ?n 
attempt at explanation in the prisoner's handwritini;. 

To Burton (probably Burnside) 

on your coming 

can we count 

when can we count on your coming? 

Applause (some person, probably the signer) tele- 

been reinforced from 

some one telegraphs that Quadroon (probably 
Bragg) has been reinforced from other points. 

Washington, September — th, 1863. 
Potts ready we result condition us if separated goes 
Jack all badly rapidly attack scattered the twentieth 
and doodle D shall but I in the but well plaster 
Arabia are up should present dread the concentrated 
jet be by should our enemy closing we to.* 

There was no attempted explanation with this tele- 
gram. Either the prisoner had made no headway 
with it, or she had not sufficient time; probably both, 
though it was more difficult to decipher than any 
of the others. 

These telegrams had been sent to general head- 
quarters and an interpretation of them furnished, 
which was read to the court: 

Crawfish Springs, Ga., 

September 14, 1S63. 
To Burnside: Halleck telegraphs that vou will join 
us. When can we count on your corning? Bragg has 

* Key. First word, " Potts," denotes that there eight lines and 
five columns. Go up th- fourth, down the third, up the fifth, 
down the second, up the first. 

1 60 CHICK A MA UGA . 

undoubtedly been reinforced from Virginia and other 

points. ROSECRANS. 

Crawfish Springs, Ga., 

September i6, 1863. 
To the Secretary of War: All goes well. We are 
badly separated, but closing up rapidly. If the enemy 
should attack us in our present scattered condition, 
I should dread the result. But by the twentieth we 
shall be concentrated and ready. D. 

The reading of these dispatches produced an im- 
pression on the court very unfavorable to the pris- 
oner. She had held the very life of the army in her 
hands. Had she got through the lines with these two 
ciphers and their interpretations she would have 
supplied the enemy with such information as would 
put an end to all uncertainty, and insure an attack on 
the Army of the Cumberland before it could be con- 
centrated or supported by other troops. This would 
have resulted in its annihilation. 

There was really no defense to make, and the de- 
fending counsel simply placed his client on the mercy 
of the court, hoping that being a woman death might 
not be the penalty. The room was cleared nnd the 
verdict considered. The court were not long in con- 
victing the accused of being a spy and amenable to 
the treatment of spies; but as to the punishment there 
was a great diversity of opinion. Some thought that 
imprisonment in a Northern penitentiary would be a 
sufficient atonement. There were those who argued 
that this would not have any effect to deter others 
from similar acts at a time when the army was in so 
critical a situation. Then the importance of the dis- 

CHICK A MA UGA. 1 6 1 

patches Miss Baggs was attempting to deliver to the 
enemy; the fact that their delivery would have given 
any general prompt to take advantage of an army's 
weakness an opportunity to destroy the Army of the 
Cumberland, acted seriously upon those who were 
disposed toward clemency. Some members of the 
court argued that the prisoner had acted as a man 
and must take the consequences, the same as if she 
were a man. There was none but knew that in this 
view of the case she would be immediately hanged. 
The disputants soon ranged themselves on opposite 
sides, the one in favor of an extreme course, the other 
of a life imprisonment. But the critical position of 
the army and the enormity of the offense finally won 
over the latter, and the case was compromised by the 
convicted woman being sentenced to be shot at sun- 
rise the next morning. The verdict and sentence 
were approved within two hours of the finding, and 
Colonel Mark Maynavd was ordered to see that the 
sentence was duly carried out. 



SCARCELY bad the court-martial brought in a ver- 
dict when an order came to Colonel Maynard to 
move his brigade across the Chickamauga Creek by 
way of Dyer's Bridge, to be ready early the following 
day to make a reconnoisance beyond the Pigeon 
Mountains. He ordered an ambulance for his pris- 
oner to ride in, since he had no option but to take her 
with him. The distance to be traversed was but a 
few miles, and although it was nearly sunset before 
the command broke camp, it was barely dark when 
the tents \fere pitched in the new situation. Luckily 
a house was found for the reception of the prisoner, 
and the headquarters of the colonel commanding were 
established near it. 

As soon as Maynard's tent was pitched he went 
inside and shut hunself up from everyone. The mat- 
ter of the life in his keeping, his desire to save his 
prisoner, the impossibility of his doing so except by 
betraying his trust and conniving at her escape, was 
weighmg terribly upon him. A desperate struggle 
between his duty as an officer, and his repulsion at 
carrying out a sentence upon a woman which had 
once been passed upon himself, was driving him well- 
nigh distracted. One thing was certain: he could 
not save Miss Baggs without sacrificing himself. He 



was ready to sacrifice himself if he could do so honor- 
ably. He might even consider the matter of doing 
that which he had no right to do, but since the devil- 
may-care days of his scouting, a new world had 
opened to him which made the struggle more com- 
plicated than it would then have been. He had a 
wife whom he loved devotedly, and any obloquy he 
might take upon himself must be shared by her and 
his son. He knew that if he could conceive it to be 
his duty, or if he could make up his mind without the 
approval of his conscience, to connive at the prison- 
er's escape, he would have a fair chance of success. 
He was charged with the execution, and this would 
give him power over her person. On the other hand, 
such a violation of trust was too horrible even for 
consideration, and if he did not so regard it, the 
penalty he must suffer — disgrace, if not death — would 
well-nigh kill his wife. For a long while he revolved 
these considerations in his mind and at last came to a 
decision. He would suffer the torture of carrying 
out the sentence. He would do his duty to his coun- 
try, his wife, and his son. 

He had scarcely arrived at this decision when a 
message came from the prisoner asking to see him. 

The racking of his whole nature, which had been 
partially allayed by his decision, came back to him 
with the summons. He dreaded an interview. He 
felt that the resolution he had formed was of too little 
inherent strength to warrant placing himself under so 
great a temptation. But his memory took him back 
to the jail in which he had been confined on the eve 
of his own intended execution at Chattanooga, and 

1 64 CHICK A MA VGA . 

he thought how he would have regarded anyone who 
would refuse him such a request at such a time. He 
got up, and walked over to the house where the pris- 
oner was confined. 

He paused a few moments before entering, in 
order to collect himself, then walked slowly up the 
steps. The guard stood at attention and brought his 
piece to a "present," but Maynard did not see him, 
did not return his salute. He opened the door, 
entered the house, and in a few minutes was in a 
room in which the prisoner was confined. She was 
standing by a window. As he entered she turned and 
stood with her hands hanging clasped before her, her 
sorrowful eyes fixed steadily upon him. 

"Colonel Maynard," she said, "I have sent for you 
to ask you to deliver my last messages. I once met 
you in the house of one who is dear to you. There I 
received shelter from the storm which raged without, 
but which was nothing to me beside another evil that 
threatened me. I was sore pressed and in great dan- 
ger of capture. The women in that house — an elderly 
lady, a young girl who visited there, and your wife — 
took me in at a great risk to themselves. Your wife 
certainly had much at stake, for your honor might be 
involved. I have sent for you now to ask you to say 
to them that I have treasured their remembrance and 
their kindness to me." 

She waited a moment for him to accept the trust. 
She might have waited till the crack of doom, without 
a reply ; he had no power to utter a word. He 
simply bowed. 

"I desire also to intrust this keepsake to you, to be 
sent to my brother." 

CHICK AM A UGA. 1 6 5 

She took a locket from about her neck, and held it 
up before him. On it was painted a miniature of a 
young man in the uniform of a Confederate ofificer. 
Maynard looked at it, and started back with a cry as 
if pierced with a red-hot iron. 

"He? he is ?" 

"My brother." 

"O God!" He staggered to the wall and leaned 
against it, shivering. 

"You know him, colonel. There is no necessity 
for deceit now. 1 have long known the singular cir- 
cumstances that surround you and him: that you both 
loved the same woman; that you won." 

"And that twice — twice he gave me — my life?" 

"That he never told me." 

"Ah! He never told you that?" replied Maynard, 
a kind of wonder in his tones. 

"When at Mrs. Fain's plantation I discovered 
under whose roof I was sheltered. Your wife had 
never seen me, and I determined that it would be best 
for all that I should not make myself known." 

Maynard stood in amazement at these developments, 
in horror at the situation, as he now knew it to be. 

"And you are the sister of Cameron Fitz Hugh?" 

"I am. I am Caroline Fitz Hugh." 

" You shall not die." 

When Colonel Maynard spoke these words there was 
a grandeur in his tone, his figure, the lines of his 
countenance, the light in his eye, strangely incon- 
sistent with a resolution he had made the moment 
before they were uttered. He had on the instant 
reversed his decision made not ten minutes before to 
do his duty, in the ordinary acceptance of what that 

1 6 6 CHICK A MA VGA . 

duty was; he had determined to save the woman 
before him, even if it were necessary to take upon 
himself far greater ignominy than the death to which 
she was sentenced. There was silence between them, 
during which Miss Fitz Hugh stood looking at him in 
admiration, mingled with inquiry. She knew that 
some secret charm was at work within, but she did 
not know what it was. 

"How can my death be prevented?" 

"I am charged with your execution. I will take 
you to your lines myself this night." 

What was that subtle influence, far stronger than 
battalions of infantry or batteries of artillery, which 
gave it to one not present, unconscious of his power, 
to hold Mark Maynard over a precipice, and to cast 
him into a black gulf below? Was it circumstances 
that had, a year before, led Fitz Hugh to accept the 
very part Maynard was now called upon to play? 
Was it love that had given Maynard the bride Fitz 
Hugh was to have possessed? Was it some invisible 
fiend that had made Maynard a robber of that bride 
from the man to whom he twice owed his life, and 
was now bringing on his punishment? These were 
indirect causes; but they cannot explain that inex- 
pressible, intangible sense of honor which will lead a 
man — to speak paradoxically — to commit a crime, 
and sacrifice himself at the same time for another. 

The expression on Miss Fitz Hugh's face, as she 
heard Maynard speak words which would save her 
from death and give her liberty, underwent a change. 
For a moment after they were spoken there was a 
delighted look, but as she realized what they meant to 
the man who would save her it was transformed into 


an expression which can only be described as border- 
ing on the confines of angel land. There was a holy 
look in her eyes, a radiance of purity from the soul 
expressed in every feature. There was the super- 
human attribute of choosing death before life and 
liberty at the price of wrong. 

"No, colonel, we Fitz Hughs cannot accept sacri- 
fice, and especially wrong, from others ; we give ; we 
are not accustomed to receive." 

Maynard stood gazing at her with a look as if, in 
refusing the sacrifice, she had stabbed him. 

"What then," he said at last, "can I do?" 

"Send the news of my condition, of my ex- 
pected — "she shuddered at pronouncing the word — 
"execution to our lines. Knowing that I am con- 
demned they can bring what influence they may be 
able, to save me." 

"It will avail nothing." 

"Try it. Fate, luck. Providence works strangely 
at times. Let us push on and leave the rest to a 
higher power." 

The colonel looked at his watch. "It is now half- 
past nine. We are but a few miles from the Confed- 
erate lines. Your brother is ?" 

"In 's cavalry division and on the Confederate 

right. I heard from him only a few days ago. He 
was then at Ringold." 

"That is not far from here." 

"There may be time," she said hopefully. 

"Someone must steal through the lines. If not 
shot, he may accomplish something. In half an hour 
I shall be " 


1 6 8 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"Yes, I! I will not trust this only thread on which 
your life hangs to anyone else. Though I confess," 
he added gloomily, "I have no confidence in it." 

"No, colonel, I cannot accept this from you. You 
are the commander here, and are all that stands be- 
tween me and death. You must remain here, and 
send a messenger." 

"Who would I dare intrust with such a message?" 

"Send for the man who captured me, Corporal 
Ratigan ; let him bear the message." 


The colonel looked at her a moment, as if to ques- 
tion why this man should be so trusted, but her eyes 
were lowered. He knew there was a secret which it 
did not become him to pry into. 

"I will send him, if he can be found at once. If 
not, I will go myself. And if the mission fails " 

The words were not finished, for he well knew how 
precious time was, and turning from the room and the 
house, strode rapidly toward his tent. 

He had gone but a dozen paces before he heard 
someone call. 


He did not hear. The call was repeated. 


A man approached him, whom in the darkness he 
did not recognize. 

"Is there no hope, colonel?" the man asked in a 
choked voice. 

"Who are you?" 

"The man who captured her," pointing to the 
house. "Oi'll never draw sabre again." 

"Corporal Ratigan?" 


"The same," 

"This is fortunate. Come with me." 

The two started together to a thicket, wherein they 
would neither be observed nor heard. 

"Oi'm hangen round, ye see, colonel. Oi'm away 
from camp without leave. Oi hope they'll shoot me 
for a deserter." 

Colonel Maynard did not speak till they reached 
the thicket. Then turning and facing Ratigan, he 
said earnestly: 

"You would like to save her, would you not?" 

"God knows I would." 

"Then go to the picket line and get through unob- 
served, if possible. Go to Ringold and find a Confed- 
erate officer — Cameron Fitz Hugh, if he is there. 
Tell him that his sister is condemned to be shot at 
sunrise to-morrow morning. Say that Colonel Mark 
Maynard sends him this information, that he may use 
whatever influence he possesses — take any measures 
he may consider honorable — to save her. Tell him," 
the colonel lowered his voice, "that I offered to 
attempt to do so, taking ruin upon myself, but she 
would not accept the sacrifice. Go, there is no time 
to lose. When the sun rises it will be too late." 

"Oh, colonel," cried the man in agony, "there is 
so little time." 

"Go! It is not yet ten o'clock. We have six 
hours. ' ' 

The corporal was moving away, when the colonel 
stopped him. 

"You will need the countersign." 

Ratigan returned, and the colonel whispered it in 
his ear. "Carnifax Ferry." 


ratigan's mission. 

THE extreme left of^the Army of the Cumberland, 
from which Corporal Ratigan started to go 
through the lines, was held only by cavalry and 
mounted infantry, and these widely separated. There 
was no regular picket line, such as usually exists be- 
tween armies confronting each other where the differ- 
ent branches of the service are represented in one 
continuous line. Consequently the corporal had a far 
better chance to get through than under ordinary 
circumstances. Passing over the Pea Vine Ridge, he 
descended the other side sloping to a small stream 
called Pea Vine Creek. It was essential that he slip 
through between the Union vedettes unseen, for if 
observed he would be taken for a deserter and either 
shot or sent into the headquarters of his regiment. 
The videttes were principally on the roads, and the 
corporal, believing that they would be looking for an 
enemy on routes over which cavalry could best 
advance, selected one least advantageous for a horse 
to follow. Wherever he could find a thick clump of 
trees or low growth, a knoll, a ravine, indeed any- 
thing difficult for a horse to pass, he would go over or 
through it. Now he would stop to listen for some 
sound such as a horse is liable to make, and now 
would steal on his hands and knees or crawl on his 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 7 1 

belly over some eminence where, if he should stand 
upright, his body would make a silhouette against the 
sky. On crossing a bit of level ground he suddenly 
heard a horse's "splutter." He was near a clump of 
bushes, in which he lost no time in concealing himself. 
A cavalryman rode by within fifty feet of him, walk- 
ing his horse slowly, the butt of his carbine resting on 
his right leg, and in a position to be used readily. 
He was patrolling a beat. Ratigan waited till he had 
gone past, then darted onward to trees which, from 
their irregular line, he judged grew beside the creek. 
He was not disappointed and was soon standing in 
shallow water, resting for a few minutes under a low 

Ratigan's eagerness to get on, and the consequent 
temptation to carelessness, were restrained by his 
remembrance that on his getting safely through de- 
pended that slender chance on which Caroline Fitz 
Hugh's life hung. His faculties were strained to 
their utmost acuteness. Had he been flying for his 
own life he could not have been so wary. His ears 
took in the slightest sound; his eyes, soon becoming 
used to the night, gave him views of distant objects 
with surprising distinctness; and now, crossing the 
creek under the shadowing trees, even his touch came 
to his assistance, and enabled him to grasp roots by 
which to drag himself upon the other side. 

Once past the creek he felt that one-half his dan- 
ger was ended. He had doubtless got beyond the 
range of his own comrades, and now came the greater 
danger of meeting the Confederate pickets. Men on 
picket, with an enemy before them, are not apt to trifle 


with those coming from their front, and Ratigan knew 
that if he should suddenly come upon a vedette he 
would be more liable to receive a shot than a chal- 
lenge. Leaving the creek he ascended a slight 
eminence, and made a survey of the surrounding 
country. All was silent, except that he could hear 
an occasional sound like a distant burst of laughter, 
or a shout from the direction of Ringold, in his front. 
Presently he heard the unmistakable rumble of a train 
coming from the South. 

"It will pass right down there behind that clump of 
trees, and go through the cut," said the corporal. "I 
wonder wouldn't it be a good plan to take advantage 
of its noise when it passes to slip through the out- 
posts. They'll be thinking of the train, and I can 
follow in its wake." 

He advanced cautiously to the trees beside the 
track, and waited for the train. It came on slowly. 
Southern railroads at that time were not in a condi- 
tion to warrant fast traveling, and the road in question 
was no exception. Ratigan waited perhaps ten min- 
utes beside the cut through which the train was to 
pass, but so eager was he to get on, so little time lay 
between life and death, that it seemed half an 

Presently the headlight of a locomotive shot out 
from around a curve. The corporal had forgotten 
that its light would reveal him to the engineer. He 
crouched down out of sight with a high-beating heart, 
and none too soon, for had he stayed where he was 
the light would have shone directly on him. He 
waited while the engine puffed slowly by. It was 


drawing a long train of mixed passenger, cattle, 
and platform cars; every car crowded with 

"They're preparing to give us a brush in earnest. 
Like enough these are reinforcements," muttered the 

Ratigan determined to follow the railroad north to 
Ringold, which he judged to be only a mile distant. 
The train loaded with Confederate troops having just 
passed, the guards he might meet would probably not 
be very suspicious of an enemy. He walked on the 
track for a short distance, expecting a challenge with 
every step. 

He received one suddenly, just before entering a 
wood. A man on horseback aimed a carbine at him 
and gave the customary: 

"Who comes thar?" 

Ratigan at once threw up his hands, which his 
challenger could distinctly see, and cried out: " I 
want you to take me to Colonel Fitz Hugh." 

"What do you want with him?" 

"Do you know him?" 

"He commands a regiment in our brigade." 

Seeing that the corporal held his hands above his 
head the man permitted him to draw near. Once 
there Ratigan informed him of the nature of his mis- 
sion, and begged him for Colonel Fitz Hugh's sake to 
send him to Ringold at once. The vedette was con- 
vinced from Ratigan's earnestness that he bore a 
message of importance, and calling his comrades 
ordered one of them to dismount. Then taking the 
precaution to blindfold the stranger, he mounted him, 


and placing a horseman on either side of liim, sent the 
three clattering toward Ringold. 

It was not a long distance to the town, but all dis- 
tances, all periods of waiting, seemed long to the cor- 
poral. Was not the terrible event to take place at 
sunrise? And now it must be near midnight. 

"What is the time?" he asked of his conductors. 

"Twenty minutes to eleven." 

"Let's go faster. Colonel Fitx Hugh would be as 
anxious for me to get on as I am myself, if he knew 
my errand." 

"All right. Let's light out, Pete." And Ratigan 
felt the motion of a gallop in the horse he rode. 

And now comes a "halt" from a guard, and an 
answer, followed by "advance and give the counter- 
sign." One of the men goes forward for the pur- 
pose. -Then the party goes on again, but what they 
pass, or where they are going Ratigan knows noth- 
ing. He only knows that they are moving, and that 
they are not moving fast enougli to suit him. Pres- 
ently they stop, and the corporal can hear one of the 
men dismount. There is a stroke of a clock evidently 
from a church spire. He counted "one," "two," 
"three," and on to "eleven." 


He lost no time in throwing himself from his horse 
and was led forward. The air became warmer. He 
must be in an inclosure. The bandage was taken 
from his eyes. 

He was standing in a tent lighted by a candle fixed 
to the end of a stake driven into the ground. There 
was but one other person present, a Confederate 


officer. He was a tall, slender young man with long 
black hair, a mustache and goatee, and an eye honest, 
respect-inspiring, and with all the gentleness of a 

"Are you Colonel Fitz Hugh?" asked the corporal, 
making a salute as if in presence of an officer of his 
own side. 

"I am." 

"I have a message from your sister." 

Colonel Fitz Hugh turned ashy pale. No one 
could come to him from her without striking terror 
into him, for he knew the work in which she 
was engaged. For months he had lived in dread of 
her capture. If the messenger had been a citizen or 
a Confederate soldier, it might not speak so clearly of 
danger, but coming from a Yankee trooper, quick 
reasoning told him that she had doubtless met with 

"Indeed," was all his reply to the corporal's 

"Oi'm sorry to inform ye, sir," said the corporal, 
in a voice which he vainly endeavored to keep steady, 
"that Miss Fitz Hugh, passing under the name of 
Elizabeth Baggs " 

Fitz Hugh put his hand on Ratigan's arm and 
stopped him, while he gathered his faculties to bear 
what he knew was coming. 

"Was pursued by a contemptible cur of a Yankee, 
who deserves to be hanged for chasing a woman " 

"Yes, yes. Go on." 

"Was captured and " 

"O God!" 

1 7 ^ CHICK A MA UGA . 

"Condemned to be shot for a spy to-morrow morn- 
ing at sunrise." 

Fitz Hugh sank back on a camp cot and covered 
his face with his hands. For a few moments the 
corporal respected his grief by silence, but time was 
precious, and he soon continued. 

"Thinking ye might exercise some influence to save 
her, Oi've come to inform ye of the — distressing fact." 

The last two words were spoken in a broken voice. 

"By whose authority?" 

Fitz Hugh rose and stood before the corporal. He 
had nerved himself for whatever was to follow. 

"Colonel Mark Maynard, commanding the th 

cavalry brigade." 

"Do you mean to tell me," said Fitz Hugh, with a 
singular, impressive slowness, "that my sister is at the 
mercy of Mark Maynard 7 " 

"He is charged with her execution." 

Colonel Fitz Hugh shuddered. "That man is my 
Nemesis," he cried in a voice filled with a kind of 

" 'Tis he that sent me to ye." 


"The same." 

"Does he wish to save my sister?" 

"He does." 

"Why then does he not do so?" 

"He can only save her by his own disgrace. Your 
sister will not accept tlie sacrifice." 

"A true Fitz Hugh," said the brother proudly. 

"Then Miss Fitz Hugh suggested that he might 
send me to inform ye of the situation, that ye might 


have opportunity to use any influence ye would con- 
sider wise and honorable to secure a reprieve." 

Fitz Hugh thought earnestly with his head bowed, 
his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground. 

"There is nothing that I can do," he said at last. 
"Threatened retaliation is the only recourse, and that 
could not be effected under the circumstances without 
implicating Colonel Maynard." 

"Then ye see no way open?" asked the corporal 

"It is impossible for me to act intelligently alone. 
If I could see Colonel Maynard, perhaps together we 
might hit upon a plan." 

"Would ye meet him between the lines?" 

"There is not sufficient time." 

"There's five or six hours." 

Fitz Hugh stood pondering for a few moments 
without reply. Then suddenly starting up, he said: 

"Go tell Colonel Maynard that t will meet him as 
you suggest. Let the point of rendezvous be — let me 
see — where do you consider a feasible point? You 
have just come through." 

"Oi would name the bank of the creek at a point 
due west of this." 

"How long a time will be required before the meet- 
ing can take place? It is now a little after eleven." 

"It may be an hour, it may be longer. If ye will 
be there, colonel, at twelve o'clock, we'll meet ye as 
soon after as possible." 

"You will find me there at twelve." 

"It would be well, colonel, to concert a signal by 
which each should know the other." 

1 7 8 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"Suggest one." 

"Oi'll doubtless be with Colonel Maynard. Oi'll 
cry ' Oireland,'' and you can respond " 

" To the rescue." 

Colonel Fitz Hugh called to those waiting outside, 
who had brought in Corporal Ratigan, and directed 
theiji to blindfold him and take him to the Federal 
lines; and, if possible, insure his getting through 
without injury. They were to report the result to \\\xn 
in any event. 

Ratigan knew nothing but the gallop of the horse 
on which he sat, with a handkerchief about his eyes, 
until the party conducting him drew rein and he was 
directed to dismount. Then he was asked if he 
would be escorted to a Union vedette known to be on 
a road leading around the north end of the ridge, or 
whether he would go alone. 

"Oi'll go alone," he said. "If ye go with me 
they'll think it a midnight attack." 

Starting forward, the corporal trudged over a short 
distance between him and the vedette. As he drew 
near he began to sing a few lines from a play popular 
at the time. 

" Thim's the boys 
What makes the noise, 
Is the Ry'al ArtillenV." 

"Who comes there?" cried the vedette, cocking his 
piece as Ratigan came in sight. 

"Friend with the countersign, to be sure! Who 
d'ye suppose?" 

"Advance, friend, and give the countersign," called 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 7 9 

the man. He was a good deal puzzled at hearing the 
Irish brogue coming from that direction ; but it reas- 
sured him; he did not have much fear of an enemy, 
unless it were a trap to get him at a disadvantage. 
Ratigan drew near and whispered: "Carnifax Ferry." 

"What are you doing out there?" queried the 

"Looken out for trains bringen in troops. One 
came in half an hour ago loaded." 

"You don't mean it? Guess they're getten in 

"I believe ye, me boy." 

Ratigan walked on toward the camp till he got out 
of sight of the vedette; then he ran till he dropped 
breathless in Colonel Maynard's tent. 



RATIGAN was so exhausted as to be only able to 
give Maynard a few detached sentences, con- 
veying some idea as to what he had accomplished. 
There was little that it was essential should be told 
except that Colonel Fitz Hugh would meet him 
between the lines as soon as he could get there. 
Casting a glance at his watch, Maynard noticed that it 
was twenty minutes to twelve. The distance to the 
point of rendezvous, as near as they could estimate it, 
was two miles. Every minute was precious. It 
would be midnight before they could meet, and then 
they would only have about six hours in which to take 
measures to secure a reprieve. They could only do 
so by communicating with general headquarters some 
fifteen miles away. In any event, the case was des- 
perate. However, Maynard had been used in his 
scouting days to sudden transitions, and had himself 
escaped from prison on the very night before his 
intended execution. Calling his striker he bade him 
saddle Madge, who, he knew, could carry him over 
the ground at no laggard pace, and ordering a mount 
for the corporal at the same time, the two waited im- 
patiently till both animals were led up before the tent. 
Mounting, they began to climb the Pea Vine Ridge. 
Ratigan, who had been over the ground, led the way. 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 8 1 

They reached the top of the ridge, and the corporal 
pointed out the position on the creek, due west of 
Ringold, where they were to meet Colonel Fitz Hugh. 
Descending the slope they came upon a Union vedette, 
and were challenged with the usual words, "Who 
comes there?" 

"The colonel commanding, with an orderly, in- 
specting vedettes." 

They were advanced, gave the countersign, and 
passed on. Taking a route between two roads, and 
meeting no more guards, they cautiously approached 
the place of rendezvous. 

On reaching the bank of the creek they descended 
it, the corporal riding ahead and peering through the 
darkness to discover what they were looking for. 
Presently the dark figure of a horseman emerged from 
a clump of trees on the opposite bank, and rode for- 
ward, toward the creek. Ratigan saw him, and 
believing him to be someone in attendance upon 
Colonel Fitz Hugh, called: 

' ' Oir eland. ' ' 

" To the rescue," called the man in a low voice, and 
rode up to the margin of the creek. 

The two men arranged that Colonel Fitz Hugh and 
Colonel Maynard should advance to the respective 
places they themselves occupied, as soon as they had 
withdrawn. Then wheeling, each rode back to his 
principal, and in a few moments more the Union and 
Confederate officers faced each other from opposite 
banks of the creek. The distance between them at 
tliis point was but a few yards, and the niglit was not 
so dark but that they could plainly see each other. 

1 8 2 CHICK A MA UGA . 

The equestrian figures stood silent, each waiting for 
the other to speak. The only sound came from the 
gurgling of the stream which flowed between them. 
Somehow a couplet from "The Brook," a poem 
which had always been a favorite with Maynard, got 
into his head, and the waters were continually saying: 

" Men may come, and men may go. 
But I go on forever." 

It seemed that the silence, so painful and embar- 
rassing, would last forever. Maynard tried to think 
of some remark by which to break it and open the 
interview, as Fitz Hugh evidently expected of him ; 
but no words came. Those of the couplet kept chas- 
ing each other through his mind, and so long as they 
occupied it there was no room for any others. Fitz 
Hugh waited for Maynard to begin. The gravity of 
the situation could not disturb his sense of propriety. 
He had made an analysis of the etiquette attending 
such a meeting, and concluded that Colonel Maynard, 
having opened the question between them by sending 
a messenger, and that messenger having suggested the 
interview, it was Maynard's part to speak first. And 
so it seemed minutes — it was only seconds — that the 
dark figcire in blue and the figure in lighter gray sat 
upon their horses and gazed at each other from the 
opposite banks of the stream, while the hours were 
flying toward the rising sun and death; and he who 
was expected to break the silence could think of 
nothing but 

" Men may come, and men may go. 
But I go on forever." 


At last Maynard broke out, "You are Colonel Fitz 
Hugh, I believe." 

"I am. I recognize Colonel Maynard's voice." 

"I heard yours last on a certain evening a year 
ago; an evening memorable to both of us. Then you 
gave me my life, and by doing so placed yourself in a 
position to be shot for a traitor to your cause." 

"Not for your sake, colonel; for the sake of an- 

"It matters not for whose sake; the act remains. 
Once before, you spared me when you found me 
under a roof which covered " 

"Then I respected the ]aw3 of hospitality sacred in 
the South. Let us not dwell on these matters, colo- 
nel. Let us proceed with that upon which we have 
met for consultation." 

"You are right; time presses. Your sister stands 
convicted of the same offense as mine at the time of 
which we have been speaking, and sentenced to die at 
sunrise. We meet to concert a method to save 

"At my request. But any proposition must come 
from you, Colonel Maynard. I am unfamiliar with 
the feeling on the part of those in power in the Fed- 
eral army as to executing a sentence of death upon a 

"Circumstances which I cannot explain — for they 
pertain to the situation in which these two armies are 
placed — render the feeling against your sister very 

"You have suggested my exerting influence from 
our side." 

1 84 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"It was your sister who suggested it. I have little 
faith in it." 

"What did you propose?" 

"That which your sister would not accept." 

"And that was?" 

Maynard whispered in a strange, savage tone: 

"To use my authority, as commanding the brigade 
charged with her keeping, to place her within your 
lines. " 

"And now?" 

"I listen for some suggestion from you." 

"I can think of none except, with your permission, 
to enter a protest over the signature of our command- 
ing officers of highest rank." 

"It would avail nothing." 

"Then there is nothing to save her from this sacri- 
fice whicli, though she has always been prepared for 
it, and doubtless will now meet it, like the remarkable 
woman she is, with becoming fortitude, is still hard 
for those of us who love and respect her, to bear. 
We will revere her memory as a martyr's." 

During this dialogue each man sat on his horse, 
without any movement, and spoke in measured, formal, 
automatic tones. Maynard's words were quicker 
than Fitz Hugh's, who held to the slower fashion of 
speaking common in the South. After the last sen- 
tence spoken by Fitz Hugh, there was a long silence. 
They had met for a purpose; their meeting was a 

It seemed to both that they could hear their watches 
ticking away the seconds that lay between Caroline 
Fitz Hugh and death, Neither knew the agony suf- 


fered by the other, unless he judged that other by 
himself. Neither had the heart to terminate the in- 
terview, though both knew that it was fruitless. A 
night bird set up a dismal cry. It seemed a death 

Then Maynard broke the silence. 

"Colonel," he said in a set voice, "remain here, or 
meet me here at any time after an hour. It may be 
the small hours of the morning. It will be, if at all, 
before sunrise." 

"What do you propose to do?" 

"What I propose to do neither you nor your sister 
shall know till it has been accomplished." 

"I will remain here, or near by, and at one o'clock 
you will find me where I now am." 

"Adieu," cried Maynard, as he turned his horse's 
head and galloped away. 

"Adieu," replied Fitz Hugh, in the stately tone to 
which he was accustomed, and raised his hat as 
politely as if he were saluting in a ballroom. 

Fitz Hugh rejoined his companion and rode away 
in the direction of Ringold, and Maynard, followed by 
Ratigan, started back toward their camp. Maynard 's 
brain was in a fever. Time had been expended to no 
gain. The small hours were coming on, and only six 
of them would pass before the event he so much 
dreaded would take place. He had formed his 
resolve. Whether wise or foolish, right or wrong, 
practicable or impossible, his resolution was taken. 
Once determined upon his course, he spurred his 
horse on without thought of obstacle. Turning from 
the rough ground on which he rode, he was about to 

1 86 CHICK AM A UGA . 

take the road, on which he might get on faster, when 
he was suddenly startled by the firing of a bullet and 
the sound that came with it. The shot rang close to 
his ear, almost brushing his temple. 

Knowing that he had by his carelesness suddenly 
come upon a Union vedette, he called out: 

"Cease firing. Friends!" 

In answer to a call to advance, Ratigan rode for- 
ward and found a vedette, who had mistaken them for 
an enemy. On making themselves known they were 
suffered to pass on, and Maynard, feeling that he was 
too incautious to lead, gave way to Ratigan. They 
proceeded on their way with more caution, and passed 
through a gap in the ridge leading to Reed's Bridge. 

The good footing of the road enabled them, after 
getting well into their lines, to proceed rapidly. After 
they had passed the ridge, they left the road and 
turned northward. Soon after they reached camp. 



ONCE inside his tent Colonel Maynard said: 
"Corporal, I want you to get me the uniform of 
a private soldier. You must do so without exciting 

"Oi don't know how Oi'll do 't, colonel, witho" t 
going back to me own camp." 

"I fear that will take too long. Can't you steal 
one from one of the tents near by?" 

"Oi moight be able to do 't, an' Oi might spend the 
whole night trying. Oi can get one at me camp 

"I would take your jacket, but I want your assist- 
ance. There's no other way but for you to go to 
your camp." 

"Colonel, Oi'll ride hard." 

"Ride, and remember that every moment is worth 
years at any other time." 

Ratigan lost no time in mounting, and was soon 
galloping on his way. Once out of the camp from 
which he started he found no guards to pass, and was 
able to drive his horse to the utmost. The night 
before he had chased the woman whom he had then 
known as Betsy Baggs in a mad race to capture her; 
now he was tearing along in a mad race to save her 



from the consequences of his capture. Past woods 
and waters flew the corporal, over bridges and hills, 
through hollows and rivulets, till he came to his own 
camp. There he at once sought the quarters of pri- 
vate Flanagan. 

"Flanagan," he cried, shaking the private, "ye'r 

Flanagan, seeing the corporal bending over him, and 
supposing he was aroused to go on some duty, got up 
at once. 

"Nevermind putting on ye'r clothes," said Rati- 
gan, "do 'em in a bundle and come along. Ye'r 
wanted for a special duty, and that right quick." 

"Duty in me drawers, is it? How would Oi look 
foighten that way? But all right, carporal," and 
Flanagan, gathering up his belongings, followed Rati- 
gan outside the tent and away from his slumbering 
tent mates. 

"Flanagan," said Ratigan. 

"What is it, carporal?" 

"Let me take ye'r clothes, and ask no questions." 

"Take 'em. And divil a question will I ask except 
what ye do be wanten 'em for." 

Ratigan seized the bundle and, with an injunction 
to Flanagan to keep his mouth shut if he wanted to 
save himself from future trials, mounted his horse 
and was again flying over the ground back to Colonel 
Maynard's headquarters. 

It was now the small hours of the night. The cor- 
poral cast his eye to the east and saw a faint streak of 
white light there. Digging his spurs into his beast's 
flanks and urging him with his voice at the same time, 


rider and horse sped on in a race between life and 

"Goon, ye beast," cried the corporal. "Go on, 
me darlin'. Stretch ye'r cussed legs; for I don't care 
if ye kill yersilf if we lose no time. What's ye'r loife 
compared with hers? On with ye, me beauty. Win 
the race with the sun that is showing his light there, 
and Oi'U worship ye forever." 

With such contradictory and incoherent phrases 
Ratigan urged his horse till he could go no faster. 
Again did hills, vales, woods, waters, fences fly by, 
till at last the corporal dismounted at the camp he 
rode for, and in a moment was in Colonel Maynard's 

The corporal started back. A man stood there 
whom he did not recognize for a feiv moments as 
Colonel Maynard. He had no beard, while the colo- 
nel had had a heavy one. His hair and eyebrows 
were black, while the colonel's were light, and the hair 
which had hung below his hat in short curls was now 

"Give me the clothes, quick," 

The corporal handed him the bundle and Maynard 
lost no time in getting into them, 

"Corporal," said the colonel, "let me explain what 
I am about to do, I know something of the blood 
that flows in the veins of Caroline Fitz Hugh. She 
will never accept her life at the price I intend to pay 
for it. She must not know that I intend to save 
her by violating a trust, by incurring my own down- 
fall, or she will not leave her jail. Do you under- 


"I do, colonel. She would chide me if she knew 
I was doing the same." 

"While you have been away I have placed three 
horses in the wood yonder." 

"I see, colonel." 

"Corporal Ratigan, every man has his own part in 
life to perform. The distinctive feature in mine 
seems to be to decide quickly between conflicting 
duties. I am going to violate a trust, to perform a 
sacred obligation. If you will aid me, follow me." 

Taking up a slip of paper lying on his camp cot, on 
which he had written an order, the two left the tent. 
They were challenged by the sentry on post, but 
giving the countersign proceeded till they were again 
challenged by the guard at the temporary prison. 
There the colonel advanced and gave the countersign, 
and passed into the house. 

The sergeant in charge met them, and asked what 
they wanted. The colonel handed him the paper he 
had brought with him. It was an order for the per- 
son of the prisoner. The place was only lighted by a 
candle, and the colonel took care to stand with his 
back to it. But this was not necessary, for his dis- 
guise was complete. Corporal Ratigan remained 
without the door, on the porch. 

The sergeant looked from the paper to the man 
who stood before him, inquiringly, 

"This is very strange," he said. 

Maynard made no reply. 

"Here is Colonel Maynard's order," the sergeant 
added, reading it over again, "do you know what he 
wants with her?" 

CHICK A MA UGA . 1 9 1 

"Do you suppose I don't know any better than to 
ask questions when I get an order?" replied the 
spurious private gruiifiy. 

"And I suppose you think I've no business to do 
so either. There's all sorts of games practiced in 
these cases, but an order's an order, and, as you say, 
I've no business to ask questions when I get one." 

"Well, then, don't keep me waiting. 1 don't care 
what Colonel Maynard wants with the prisoner; he's 
sent me for her with a written order, and that's all 
there is about it." 

The sergeant went into the room where Miss Fitz 
Hugh was confined and led her out, pale and won- 

"It isn't sunrise," she said, in a voice which it was 
difficult for her to keep from breaking. 

"Come," said the colonel. She followed him to 
the porch and Corporal Ratigan joined them, but it 
was too dark for the prisoner to see who he was, and 
he did not dare to make himself known. As soon as 
they had got to a safe distance he whispered: 



"Not a word till we get further away." 

They walked on at an ordinary pace, though all 
desired to hasten. After passing some distance from 
the house, Maynard turned and glanced back. He 
saw the sergeant watching. 

"We must go to the tent," he muttered, and the 
three walked on. Before entering he looked again. 
The sergeant was still watching. He evidently 
wished to make sure that all was right. All entered 

1 9 2 CHICK A MA UGA . 

the tent, while the colonel, standing at the front and 
peering between the tent flaps, watched for the ser- 
geant to go back into the house. Presently he did so 
and left the way clear. 

"Now come on." 

Leaving the tent they walked a short distance down 
the road. Not a word was spoken. Presently they 
turned aside and entered the wood. There they 
found the horses. 

"Mount," said the colonel to the prisoner. 

Putting a foot in his hand she sprang up onto a 
horse's back. There was no sidesaddle for her, but 
the high front of a "McClellan" served very well, and 
she was so good a horsewoman that she could have 
ridden sideways on the animal's bare back. The stir- 
rup was fitted, the colonel and Ratigan mounted, and 
the three rode rapidly away. 

"We must dodge the picket," said the colonel. 
"Even the countersign might not avail us with a 
woman in the party." 

"What does it all mean. Rats?" asked Miss Fitz 
Hugh. "I thought you were going to do your duty 
at all hazards." 

"Well, there's different kinds of duties, and some- 
times they won't work together. If saving a woman's 
life isn't a duty, then me mother didn't bring me up 

"Who's the other?" she asked, while Maynard was 
riding a little in advance. 

"One who this night makes me his slave." 

"And I from this night will be indebted for my life 
to both of you, if you succeed in saving it. But I 

CHlCk\4 MA VGA . 193 

can't bear to have you sacrifice yourselves for me. 
You may be committing an unpardonable sin toward 
your comrades, but I cannot believe you are commit- 
ting a sin toward Our Father. And one day it will 
be all ended, Rats: and then who will care?" 

"Oi know those who will rejoice." 

Ratigan now took the lead, having passed over the 
route before several times, and being familiar with 
the best way to get between the vedettes. Colonel 
Maynard dropped back beside the prisoner. 

"Who are you?" she asked. 

"One who serves you." 

The voice sounded familiar, but was disguised, and 
she did not recognize it as Colonel Maynard's. 

"Were you sent by Colonel Maynard?" 


"Why should you try to save me?" 

"Ask me rather why I should not." 

It was plain the man, whoever he might be, desired 
to remain unknown, and she desisted from further 

"After all my death would not profit the Federal 
cause," she said. "My lips will be sealed to any 
information I may possess." 

"Your information would be too late in any event. 
Had it been otherwise this plan would not have 
been attempted." 

"Why so?" 

"Your commander-in-chief of the Army of Tennes- 
see has delayed too long already. He will attack us 
almost immediately. Your information would not 
now hasten that attack." 

1 94 CHICK AM A VGA . 

"How do you know?" 

"We have captured prisoners showing that your 
men have been reinforced from Knoxville and Vir- 
ginia. General Bragg has ceased to retreat and is 
about to fall upon us with a concentrated army." 

"You are right in assuming that neither you nor I 
can have any influence for or against either side now. 
These troops have been coming from Virginia for a 
month. They are nearly all arrived ; you may expect 
to hear the opening shot of a great battle at any 

The corporal, who was in front, reined in his horse 
and held up his hand in warning. They were on the 
edge of a wood and within a few hundred yards of 
the creek, and could see to the right and to the left. 

"My God!" exclaimed the corporal, "there are 
vedettes there, and vedettes there," pointing north 
and south. "And they are both coming this way. 
We must go back." 

Colonel Maynard rode forward to sec. He glanced 
at both parties of vedettes, then in front of him. 
From that front at that moment there came a horse's 
neigh. It was answered by a neigh from behind the 
three on the edge of the wood. 

"Your people are where that horse neighed. Can 
you keep your seat in the saddle for a dash?" 


"We are surrounded; it is the only chance. Are 
you prepared? Ready! Go!" 

The two men dug their spurs into their horses' 
flanks and all three shot out toward the creek. They 
had not gone a hundred yards before they heard: 

WlCl^AMA UGA. 1 95 

"Halt there," immediately followed by a shot; 
They paid no attention to either, but dashed on over 
the uneven ground, the two men riding close on 
either side the prisoner for fear she would lose her 
balance. Her horse stumbled, but recovered. A 
volley came from the vedettes riding from the south, 
but no one was hit. In crossing a gully Miss Fitz 
Hugh tottered sideways, but Maynard caught her and 
righted her. 

"On, on," he said, "a few hundred yards and you 
are saved." 

Then came another volley; this time from the party 
advancing from the north. Corporal Ratigan swayed 
in his saddle, but recovered himself. 

"They are advancing to meet us! Quick! Down 
the bank! Through here! it is not knee deep!" 

A third volley came, but it did no harm. It was 
too late to stop the fugitives now. They rode right 
into a party of Confederate officers. 

Friends gathered about Miss Fitz Hugh. Her 
brother, being in presence of others, restrained his 
desire to throw his arms about her neck. He lifted 
his hat to her as politely as if she were as nearly 
related to the rest as to himself, then took her hand 
and kissed it. Suddenly, in the midst of a shower of 
congratulations — a wild, irrepressible cheer that 
burst spontaneously from the party, Caroline Fitz 
Hugh gave a shriek. Corporal Ratigan had fallen 
from his horse, and lay white and bleeding on the 
ground. Springing from her own horse she bent over 
him and raised his head. 

"O God! he's dead." 



THE cheer, the shriek, Miss Fitz Hugh's words, 
sounded in Colonel Maynard's ears as he put 
spurs to his horse and dashed away up the stream in 
a direction parallel with the Union lines. The cheer 
was the announcement of the completion of an act by 
which he had parted with what he held most dear, the 
confidence of his superiors, his peers, and the rank 
and file of the army. He had given to Caroline Fitz 
Hugh to see the rising of the sun whose light was 
now broadening in the east. He had called down 
upon himself what to him was the bitterest of all 
degradation ; perhaps to meet the fate that had been 
intended for her. Riding up the creek on the bank 
nearest the Confederate lines he approached a wood. 
This he entered, crossed the creek unobserved, and 
emerged to see the men by whom the escaping party 
had been chased returning toward the ridge. Not 
caring to be questioned by them he rode back into the 
wood until they were in a position not to see him; 
then he trotted slowly to the ridge and over it, mak- 
ing his way back to his tent. 

It was now broad dayliglit. As he dismounted he 
noticed a detachment of cavalry marching on foot, 
under the direction of an officer, toward the house 
where Miss Fitz Hugh had been confined. On arriv- 


CHICK A MA UGA. 1 9 7 

ing there they halted and the officer went inside. In 
a few minutes he came out and strode over to Colonel 
Maynard's tent. The colonel had gone in. He had 
thrown off his cavalry jacket and was waiting for what 
was to follow. The officer entered the tent and, not 
recognizing Maynard, shorn of his beard, asked for 
the colonel commanding. 

"I am Colonel Maynard." 

"Ah! I did not recognize you, colonel. I have 
just called for the spy in the house where I expected 
to find her, and was told by the sergeant that he had 
delivered her soon after midnight to two men bearing 
an order from you." 


"I suspect something must be wrong. Was the 
order a forgery?" 


"Then the prisoner is in your keeping?" 




The officer was too astonished to ask any more 
questions at once. 

"Who is responsible?" he asked presently. 

"I am." 


"Yes, I. You will march your men back to camp. 
You need not make any official report of the matter 
unless you choose. I will report the escape my- 

The officer bowed and, with tlie same astonisliment 
on his face that had been there throughout, turned 


from the tent, and going to the men standing In the 
road marched them back to camp. 

Colonel Maynard came out of his tent and mount- 
ing his horse rode to the headquarters of his division 
commander. He rode slowly, his head bowed almost 
to his saddlebow. Reining up before the general's 
tent he sent in his name by an orderly, and was soon 

"General," he said, "I have come to prefer 

"Indeed," said the general. "Why not forward 
them in writing in the regular way?" 

"It is because of the person against whom I am 
going to prefer them." 

"And that is?" 


The general looked at him with a puzzled expres- 

"Colonel, are you ill?" 

"No, general." 

"I suppose it would be ridiculous to ask a man if 
he is all right here?" and he tapped his forehead 
with his finger. 

"I am sound of mind and body." 

"Well, well, colonel, what does it all mean; it's 
too early in the morning for joking," and the 
general yawned. 

"I have to report that the spy left in my charge has 
escaped, and through my connivance." 

"Good Lord!" exclaimed the general, "that is z. 
serious matter." 

Maynard remained silent. 

CHICK A MA UGA. 1 9 9 

"And the explanation?" 

"There is none." 

The general looked into the melancholy eye of 
Colonel Maynard, and felt a cold chill creep over him. 
He knew there was some reason for the act which 
would explain, if not excuse it. 

"Colonel, you are a dashing fellow, with a tinge of 
romance in your nature. I trust you have not 
yielded to an absurd notion as to taking the life of a 

"No. I have not." 

"Then give me some explanation. I fear it will 
go hard with you, but I will do all I can for you if 
you can give a satisfactory reason." 

"I have no reason to give." 

"Of course I must report the matter. Better speak 
now; it may be too late hereafter." 

"I have reported the fact. That is all the report 
I have to make." 

"Then, colonel, it is my duty to order you to your 
tent under arrest. You may leave your sword here 
with me, if you please. An order will be issued 

placing Colonel next in rank, in charge of your 


Colonel Maynard unhooked his sword from his 
belt, and handed it to the general. Then he rode 
back to his tent, and as he entered it he felt that he 
had left his former self outside; that, as in the case of 
a fallen comrade, he would never see this being of the 
past again. As for his present self, that, if suffered 
to live, could only live a life in death. 

The news of the singular act by one of its most 


promising, its most popular colonels, rapidly spread 
among the army. It was received with different feel- 
ings by different persons. Some were so averse to the 
shooting of a woman that, if they had had a reasonable 
explanation, they would gladly have excused the act in 
their hearts, though they could not but condemn it 
openly. To the great majority it was a traitorous 
breach of trust, a violation of all the instincts of a 
soldier, that could merit no less punishment than that 
which had been intended for the prisoner. Knots of 
men discussed it at the mess tables of officers and by 
the camp fires of the soldiers. All regretted that the 
blow had fallen on Colonel Maynard, so young, 
so recklessly brave, so promising ; and there was 
scarcely a man who did not secretly rejoice that the 
Army of the Cumberland had been spared the obloquy 
of executing a woman. It was supposed that the spy 
carried important information ; that she possessed dis- 
patches which would seriously endanger the army, 
and this fact tended to bring down most of the con- 
demnation which fell upon the man who had assisted 
her to escape. 

The result of this feeling was the ordering of a 
court-martial to try Colonel Maynard with as much 
dispatch as had attended the trial of the escaped 
woman. The charge was "giving aid and comfort to 
the enemy," the specification "himself aiding in the 
escape of a spy in the service of said enemy." 

The court met on the afternoon of the day on 
which Maynard had reported his act. Men of his 
own grade, or near it, sat about a pine table in a wall 
tent and proceeded with the formalities attending the 


case. As Maynard pleaded guilty to both charge and 
specification, there was little to do except to come to 
a verdict. Before doing so the president asked the 
accused if he had anything to say in his behalf, any 
explanation to make. 

"No," was his reply. 

"Colonel Maynard," said the president, "you have 
served this army with distinction. You have been 
respected, trusted, beloved as few other men in it. 
You have confessed to having committed one of the 
most atrocious crimes that can come under the juris- 
diction of a military court. Nothing can excuse it. 
There may be something to palliate it. I conjure you 
to speak before the court brings in a verdict and 
names your punishment." 

"Mr. President," replied Maynard, "for my act 
toward this army I am accountable to you as a court- 
martial convened to try me; for my act as one of 
right or wrong, of honor or dishonor, I am account- 
able only to a tribunal with which you have nothing 
to do. Do not waste valuable time. Before the sun 
sets twice, if I mistake not, you will have a more im- 
portant work to do in the reception of the enemy. 
Do your 'duty as a court, and do it with dispatch." 

There was not an officer present but looked at 
Maynard with a curious admiration. It was plain 
that he had sacrificed himself, though it was not 
entirely plain why. Even those who condemned him 
most bitterly seemed to hesitate to bring in a verdict 
which would naturally carry with it the punishment 
pf death. 

"You are mistaken, colonel," said one of them, 


referring to Maynard's predictions, "the enemy have 
been in full retreat ever since we left Murfreesboro. 
I only fear he's going to give us the slip again." 

"I regret your confidence, sir," replied Maynard. 
"I am aware that others feel as you do; and it is a 
mistake which will cost this army dear," 

"Nonsense. Haven't we " 

"This is not the place to discuss problems for which 
only our commanding general is responsible," inter- 
rupted the president. "Let the prisoner leave the 

Maynard was led away, and the court proceeded to 
consider a verdict. There was little time spent on it, 
for there was but one thing to do, and that was to 
make it "guilty of the charge, and guilty of the speci- 
fication." Then began a discussion of the punish- 
ment. One of the members stated that it was person- 
ally known to him for a fact that the accused had one 
year before visited Chattanooga as a spy, when the 
place was held by the Confederates, had been cap- 
tured, tried, condemned, and sentenced to be hanged. 
That Jacob Slack, a boy who was now serving as his 
orderly, had been with him ; that he had contrived to 
get news of Maynard's condition to Missouri Slack, 
his sister, at Jasper, Tennessee; that she had gone to 
Chattanooga, had entered his jail, had exchanged 
clothes with the prisoner, and thus effected his 
escape; that he had been concealed, and afterward 
helped through the lines, by a Miss Fain, whom he 
had married on reaching the Union lines. "I put it 
to you, gentlemen," he concluded, "could one whose 
life had been saved by women, carry out a sentence of 


death upon a woman for the same offense for which it 
was intended he should suffer?" 

The speaker knew nothing of the relations existing 
between Maynard and Fitz Hugh. It is impossible 
to know what might have been the effect had he pos- 
sessed this knowledge. The court acted only on the 
information communicated by the officer who told the 
story of Maynard's experience as a spy, and the main 
facts in this were known throughout the army. The 
circumstances of the accused's sentence by Confeder- 
ates to be hanged for a spy and his escape, the valu- 
able service he had rendered the Union cause, the 
reasons he had for not wishing to shoot a woman, 
saved his life. The sentence of the court was that he 
be dismissed the service with forfeiture of all pay and 

When this sentence was communicated to Colonel 
Maynard, he was in his tent, waiting to know his fate. 
He had expected to be shot. He hardly knew 
whether he was more moved by the leniency shown 
him, or more disappointed at being obliged to live a 
disgraced man. But one reason gave him comfort 
that he was not to die: his wife. He knew that, 
although all others looked upon him with horror, she 
would love him all the more that he suffered. 



THE events attending the capture and escape of 
Caroline Fitz Hugh, and the dismissal of Colonel 
Maynard from the service, all happened in such quick 
succession that Jakey Slack was not aware of what 
was taking place until after it was all over. It must 
be confessed that Maynard had not treated his most 
devoted adherent with the consideration he merited. 
But it is the way of people who are rising to eminence 
to gradually leave off familiarity with those formerly 
most intimate with them. Maynard had treated Jakey 
with mock deference, but had not thought of leaning 
upon him for advice or strength, much less comfort, 
and during the raging of the fire through which he 
had passed Jakey Slack had been as far from his mind 
as if he had not existed. 

One evening as "retreat" was sounding — it was the 
evening of the colonel's deposition from his rank and 
command — Jakey walked into his tent. Maynard's 
head was bowed down on his camp cot. Hearing 
someone enter he looked up and saw his old friend. 
Had Jakey been another boy, when he saw the hag- 
gard look, the strongly marked lines of suffering in 
the face before him, he would have shown some mark 
of the effect such a sight had upon him. Not so 
Jakey. There was no expression either of surprise or 



grief upon his unexpressive countenance. But the 
sight of Jakey standing there to remind him that, 
though a whole army condemned liim, there was one 
in it who never could be brought to think him guilty 
of any crime, had a different effect on the late com- 
mander. He reached out his hand, took that of 
Jakey and, drawing the boy toward him, folded him in 
his arms. Thus do those who have been deprived of 
their greatness go back for sympathy to those from 
whom they have farthest departed. 

Maynard held the boy against his breast, while he 
gave way to convulsive sobs such as are unusual in a 
man, and only come when some mental struggle under 
an intense grief is relaxed, and suffering permitted to 
get control. Neither spoke. Jakey's presence re- 
minded Maynard the more keenly of those he loved. 
His mind had been upon his wife and child. Jakey's 
coming brought also Souri's image, and the trials and 
triumphs which he and Jakey and Souri had once 
passed together; and trials and triumphs borne in 
company weld hearts. Of all who loved him only 
Jakey was there, and on him alone could he rely for 

At last Jakey withdrew himself from his friend's 
embrace. He had permitted him to indulge his grief 
for a few minutes, and this he considered quite long 

"General," he began. He had always called his 
chief "general," contending that he was a general 
since he commanded a brigade. 

"No more of that, Jakey ; I am only Maynard now, 
Mark Maynard. Mark is a good enough name for me," 

2o6 CHICK A MA UG. I . 

"Wal, that don' make no differ. You 'tins got th" 
same body, 'n arms, 'n legs, 'n all thet. Hev y' 
done th' fust thing fo' ter do?" 

"What's that, Jakey?" 

"Tell Mrs. Maynard." 

"Jakey, I can't." 

"Recken she'll hev ter know 't some time." 

"There's going to be a battle. No court can keep 
me from shouldering a musket or wielding a sabre. 
I'll go into the fight that's coming, and never come 
out of it. Then she'll not need to know it." 

"VVhat makes y' think ther's goen ter be a fight?" 

"I would not have the intuitions of a soldier if I 
did not." 

"Y' haint General Rosey." 

"Nor do I need to be General Rosey to divine what's 
coming. Do you suppose I knew any more about war 
with eagles on my shoulders than in a private's uni- 
form? If there were some superior being to look into 
the heads of the men composing this army, and readjust 
the rank in accordance with fitness, many a star would 
leave the shoulder where it now rests to light on that 
of some obscure private." 

''Wal, ef we fight 'em won't we wnip 'em?" 

Jakey noticed that, with the change of his friend's 
mind from his grief to war, there was an immediate 
improvement from the terrible depression upon him. 
He asked the question for the purpose of keeping 
Maynard's attention fixed for a time on war, rather 
than for information. 

"Whip 'em? Why, Jakey, we're scattered all over 
creation,'' He dipped his finger in a tin cup full of 


water and began to draw a rude map on the top of an 
extemporized table, consisting of a square board nailed 
on a stake driven in the ground. 

"Here's the Chickamauga flowing between these two 
ridges, Missionary and the Pigeon Mountains, from 
south to north into the Tennessee. Crittenden's 
corps is here at Lee and Gordon's Mill. Thomas' 
corps has just passed through Stevens' Gap down here, 
ten or a dozen miles from Crittenden, while McCook 
is at Alpine, twenty miles away from Thomas. JVe 
are off here, near Reed's Bridge, the tip of the left 
wing, forty miles from McCook, the tip of the right 

"Bragg is here at Lafayette, on the east side of the 
Pigeon Mountains, and opposite our center at Craw- 
fish Springs, where he can strike any one of our corps 
separately. He can ride up onto the Pigeon Moun- 
tains and, looking down on the valley of the Chicka- 
mauga, see just where we are located. I was up there 
myself the other day with a reconnoitering party and 
came upon one of his scouts, looking at us very much 
as one would survey a barnyard of fat turkeys before 

He paused, and seemed lost in some attendant prob- 
lem. Presently he added absently : 

"All I'd be afraid of would be delay." 

"What d'y mean by thet?" asked Jakey. 

Maynard started. "I was thinking that I was on 
the other side," he said. "You see, Jakey, in a mili- 
tary point of view the beauty of the situation is all 
with the Confederates," 


2 o8 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"They can cut us up in detail." 

"Wha 'd you do if you wor him 'uns?" 

"I! I'd drive a wedge right in here between 
Thomas' and Crittenden's corps. I'd destroy first 
one and then the other. After that I'd eat my rations 
and have plenty of time to take care of McCook's, 
which is too far away even to hear the guns." 

"That 'ud be hunky," said Jakey, pretending to 
catch his friend's enthusiasm. "Pity' twasn't t'other 
way and we had 'em as they got we 'uns. Mebbe ef 
you 'uns wor in command of our army y' mought do 
somep'n fo' ter change th' siteration." 


"Yes, what'd y' do?" 

"That's a poser, Jakey." 

Maynard studied his improvised map for a while 
without speaking, as if it were a chess-board. At last 
he said: 

"General Rosecrans, 1 learn, has ordered his scat- 
tered columns concentrated at Crawfish Springs, the 
center of his line. Perhaps this is as good a plan as 
any, at least if Bragg gives him time enough to close 
up. To me two plans seem to be open. One is to 
demonstrate along the Chickamauga, principally with 
cavalry; while " 

"What's demonstrate?" interrupted the listener. 

"Make a feint, a fuss, pretend to have a big force 
and only have a little one. I would leave the camp- 
fires burning at night, to make them think I was still 
there, and draw my army away to Mission Ridge. 
Moving backward on converging lines " 

"What's them?" 

CHICK A MA UGA . 2 09 

"Lines coming to a focus " 

"What's a focus?" 

"Confound it, Jakey, we'll be attacked and whipped 
before I can make you understand. These roads you 
see come together at Chattanooga. From Chatta- 
nooga, if necessary, the army could be crossed " 

"I thought we 'uns was a-folleren them 'uns!" ob- 
served Jakey, surprised at the turn the campaign had 

"Jakey, did you ever hear of the man who held his 
adversary down by placing his nose between that 
adversary's teeth?" 


"Well, that's the way we're holding our enemy; 
but your remark leads to the other side of the problem. 
Desperate diseases require desperate remedies. If I 
were a general I'd never be on the defensive if I could 
help it, cost what it might. It sets a man to wonder- 
ing what his enemy is going to do, instead of doing 
something himself. Now our southernmost column 
might be pushed out here," — putting his finger on the 
line denoting the Georgia Central Railroad, — "to cut 
the Confederates' avenue for supplies. Bragg might 
turn and crush it, but he can do that now. The trouble 
is, Jakey, we need troops for quick marches ; flying col- 
umns to move without camp equipage. Such a column 
down there could strike, retreat, strike at another 
point, and so confuse an enemy that he wouldn't know 
what was to happen next." 

Jakey was too young to understand the phases of 
the war problem in which Maynard's mind had become 
engrossed to the obliteration of his trial, disgrace, wife. 

2 1 o CHICK A MA VGA . 

child, friends, comrades, everything but the game that 
charmed him. But Jakey's mind was as much on his 
friend as his friend's was on the problem, and he de- 
termined to go on fostering the awakened interest. 
Unmindful of the demonstration made thus far he 
suddenly broke out: 

"Supposen I wor th' general commanden this hyar 
army 'n you 'uns wor th' general commanden t'other 
army. Now, how would 't do fo' me ter march out in 
the middle o' the night 'n just knock the stuffen right 
out'n you' uns?" 

Maynard smiled. It suddenly occurred to him how 
little Jakey knew of the game of war; how useless 
had been his explanations. 

"What would be your plan of attack, general?" he 
asked,. wishing to humor the boy. 

"Wal," said Jakey, who had no more idea of what 
he was talking about than the fourteen-year-old boy he 
was, ''I reckon I'd put the big guns in a long line on 
top 'n th' Pea Vine Ridge hyar, 'n jest scatter shot 'n 
shell like chicken feed." 

Maynard burst into a laugh. Jakey surveyed the 
altered expression of his friend's face with his bright 
little eyes and chuckled, but his own face was as im- 
perturbable as usual. 

"General," said the boy-commander's supposititious 
enemy, "what would you do if I were to draw my 
troops out of range?" 

Jakey was puzzled. He made a desperate effort to 
conjure up a reply. 

"Wal," he said presently, "I reckon I'd jest wait 
fo' you 'uns ter do somep'n." 

chick: A Ma uga . 211 

"Your ground would be strong enough in itself, but 
weak on the flanks, especially your left, and in case 
of retreat you would have the creek to cross in face of 
an enemy — a hazardous undertaking. I would turn 
your left and get possession of the roads to Chatta- 
nooga. Perhaps I could defeat you and force you to 
recross the creek. While you were doing so I would 
knock you to pieces. If you succeeded in crossing 
you would find my troops in your rear between you 
and Chattanooga." 

Jakey neither understood nor even heard a word his 
opponent said, but he looked as seriously studious over 
the problem as if he were the general commanding. 

"Are you whipped, general?" asked Maynard. 

"Wal, mebbe ef I air whipped I don' know nothen 
'bout 't, 'n I'll jest go on fighten till I make you 'uns 
think thet you 'uns air whipped." 

"Like Grant at Pittsburgh Landing." 

The reference Avas lost on Jakey, but it led him to 
think that he had made a point ; he looked very wise 
and said nothing. He was thinking on a line which 
he feared might be of some practical importance to his 
individual self. He was not certain but that it would 
be necessary for him to make the connecting link in 
person between his friend and his friend's wife. So 
he turned the conversation on lines of retreat. 

"Now suppose," he said, "just supposen I war 
busted, right hyar, how'd I git away?" 

"That would depend on the condition of things. 
If I were the general opposing you, you'd never get 
away safely. I'd never stop till I had driven you into 
the Tennessee River." 


"How could I get thar from hyar?" 

"This part of your army where we are now, could 
only fall back on Rossville. There the flanks would be 
better protected for a stand. You could go from Ross- 
ville to Chattanooga by this road" (pointing to it on the 
map). "If you should be successful in keeping your 
enemy far enough from you and long enough, you 
might cross the river there, and save your army. You 
might perhaps stay there if not too reduced in num- 
bers, and if you could keep your line of supply open." 

"This air th' bridge I'd cross the creek on, I 
reckon," pointing to Reed's Bridge on the map, 

"That's the nearest from where we are." 

" Wal, general, ' ' said Jakey, in a tone to indicate that 
the discussion of the campaign was ended; "ef you 
'uns bust me I'll retreat that-a-way." 

Nothing more was said about the imaginary cam- 
paign by either. Maynard's eye was fixed on his water 
map, and he was lost in study. Jakey let him alone till 
he saw that he was drifting back to his trouble. Then 
he endeavored to lead him into war again. At last, 
seizing a favorable opportunity, the boy suggested the 
propriety of sending some message to his wife. 

"Time enough for that after the fight," was all 
Maynard would say. Jakey was discouraged. He 
knew that if his friend lived after the fight it would 
not be his own fault. 


jakey's announcement. 

JAKEY considered himself bound in honor to report 
to Mrs. Maynard her husband's condition, not only 
on account of his promise made her on the evening of 
his departure for the front, but because he had a vague 
unformulated notion that there are certain exigencies 
where only women can "do somep'n," and he knew 
that "the general" required his wife's attention. 
There seemed to be no way of acquainting her with 
the condition of affairs except to go and tell her him- 
self. Jakey, being in the army, could not leave it with- 
out permission. The question was how to get such 
permission. Not being a quick thinker Jakey spent 
several hours on the problem without any result. At 
last he determined to make a beginning, at least, and 
going to the headquarters of the new commander of 
the brigade, he sent in word that "General" Maynard's 
clerk wished for an audience. Jakey was ushered into 
the presence of a gray bearded colonel, twenty years 
older than the late colonel commanding, who in Colo- 
nel Maynard's clerk expected to see a soldier not less 
than eighteen years old, and standing over the regula- 
tion limit of five feet four. ^Vhen little Jakey Slack 
appeared before him he opened his eyes in surprise. 
"What do you want, sonny?" 


2 1 4 Chick AM A uCa . 

"General Maynard, he don't command no mo', 'n 
I want ter go hum," 

"What position do you hold in the service. I see 
you wear Uncle Sam's buttons." 

"Drummer, detailed fo' duty at General May- 
nard's headquarters." 

"In that event, you'll have to go back to the band 
you started from. I can't let you go home. I have 
no such power." 

Jakey turned from the tent without another word. 
He had cast his fortunes with "General" Maynard, 
and, while he was in his element with the army, that 
army was nothing to Jakey without the "General." 
He made up his mind that if he could not keep his 
promise to Mrs. Maynard with permission, he would 
keep it without permission. Now Jakey had learned 
enough of army regulations to know that absence with- 
out leave at such a critical juncture would be considered 
as flagrant a breach of army regulations as desertion, 
and the penalty for desertion he well knew was to be 

"Wal," he said after mature deliberation. "I goen 
ter do what I promised anyway." 

A violation of principle, even if it is to right a wrong, 
will always extend its malign influence. Mark May- 
nard had made such a violation, and here was Jakey 
Slack, who looked to him for guidance, about to imi- 
tate his example. If his beloved "general" could 
break an army regulation, certainly it would be no 
harm for him to do so. At least so reasoned Jakey. 

He had always kept the clothes he had on when he 
joined the army. He felt that he was of quite enough 


importance to have impedimenta^ and the only impedi- 
menta he possessed was his old clothes. They had 
been carried in the wagon with Colonel Maynard's 
baggage and now came in handy. Jakey did them up 
in a bundle, and as the bugles were blowing the tattoo, 
he sallied forth to saddle Tom. The horse looked 
around and, seeing Jakey, submitted himself to be 
saddled and bridled, after which Jakey, with his bundle 
under his arm, mounted by the aid of a convenient 
stump and rode away. He was stopped by a sentinel, 
who recognizing him as the former brigade command- 
er's factotum, permitted him to pass. Having crossed 
the creek and reached a clump of trees away from the 
camps he rode into it, and dismounting took off his 
blue and brass and put on his old clothes. 

"Ef the general air reduced," he said, "I reckon I 
got ter be. These air good 'nuff fo' me now." 

Having divested himself of the plumage, which, not- 
withstanding his remark, was very dear to him, he rolled 
it in a bundle, and fastening it in the crotch of a tree 
where it would be covered by successive layers of green 
boughs, he carefully noted the place, which was the 
only wooded spot near the fork of two roads, so that in 
case he should want his uniform again he could find it. 
Then remounting Tom he set off toward Rossville, re- 
membering by the water map that the right-hand road 
led there. 

It was about eleven o'clock at night when he reached 
Rossville. He determined to rest there a few hours, and 
making for a cavalry camp, got on the "soft side" of a 
sergeant, and turned in with his natural associates, the 
soldiers. Jakey asked the guard to waken him at two 

2 1 6 CHICK A MA UGA . 

o'clock, at which time, after a bite furnished by his 
friend, the sergeant, and a feed for Tom, he set off 
toward Chattanooga. At daylight he crossed the 
Tennessee River and was soon on his way across the 
neck of Moccasin Point toward his destination. 

As Jakey approached the plantation it occurred to 
him for the first time that the information he bore was 
not pleasant for him to give to anyone, especially a 
woman, and that woman "the general's" wife. 

"Reckon she 'uns '11 be skeered when she sees me," 
he muttered to himself. "I don't like this business 
nohow. Wonder I didn't think o' this befo'. Wish 
ther' wor some'un ter tell her. Mebbe I'll see Souri 
first. Ef I do, I'll let her tell." 

But Jakey was not so lucky. He reached the plan- 
tation just before breakfast-time, and as Laura May- 
nard cast a glance from her chamber window she saw 
him ride up to the veranda. She remembered well the 
promise she had extracted from Jakey, and knew in a 
moment that he was the bearer of some bad news. 
Putting her hand on her heart, to stop its thumping, she 
ran downstairs and out on to the veranda. The boy 
dismounted and came up the steps. 

"O Jakey, what is it?" 

Now, Jakey had his own methods of carrying his 
points, and whether or no they were original or ingeni- 
ous he carried them. Sometimes his parrying was very 
clumsy. It was so now. He must gain time at all 

"What air what?" 

"There's something happened to the colonel. I 
know it. Tell me the worst," 


"Wal, now, Mrs. Maynard, 'the general' he hain't 
dead nohow." 

"Thank Heaven he lives. Is he ill or wounded? 
Is the wound mortal? Or is his illness dangerous? 
Will he recover? Oh, tell me, tell me!" 

"Which 'un o' them air questions shell I answer 

Souri came out on to the veranda, and seeing Jakey 
took him into her arms. 

"What are you doing here, Jakey?" she asked. 

"Reckon I air a standen on ter th' gallery jest now." 

"Mark is ill, wounded. Heaven knows what!" ex- 
claimed Laura, "he won't tell me." She clasped her 
hands and trembled. 

"Jakey, don't give Mrs, Maynard pain by keeping 
her in suspense; tell her." 

But Souri dreaded to have her friend hear bad news, 
as well as Jakey dreaded to give it. 

"Wal," said Jakey, cornered, "the general: he air 
damned obstinate." 



"What do you mean, Jakey?" asked Souri, encour- 

"Wal. The general, he reckons ther's goen to be a 
big fight 'n he's goen fo' ter git hisself killed." 

"Heavens!" exclaimed Laura. "What does \\. all 

"Means Miss Baggs." 

"MissBaggs!" cried the wife, bristling. "So it's 
something about /ler." 

" "T'sall 'bout her." 

2 1 8 CHICK A MA UGA . 

"Tell me what you mean, this instant," said Laura, 
with flashing eyes. 

By this time Jakey had got to a point where he 
could begin to tell his story. He did so after the 
following fashion : 

"Miss Baggs, she wor kecht taken the telegraphs off 
'n th' wires and turned over to the general. The 
general he wanted to turn her over to headquarters; 
but they was too smart for him. They tole him 't try 
her 'n kill her." 

"The cruel monsters!' cried Laura, 

"Maybe Jakey's got it wrong. They'd not be 
likely to express it that way," said Souri. 

"Reckon that's about it with a spy, anyhow. The 
genera], he tried her, but when it come 't killen her, 
he wasn't thar. " 

"The noble man; it is just like him," from Laura. 

"Then he found out that she was a sister of a old 
friend o' his'n." 

"Who was that?" from Laura. 

"Mister Fitz Hugh." 

"Caroline Fitz Hugh?" 


"Who is she?" asked Souri of Laura. 

"I — I never saw her. I know who she is, 

"Then the general he dressed hisself like a pri- 
vate sojer, *n he 'n Corporal Ratigan " 

"'Corporal Ratigan!" exclaimed Souri. 

"Yas, he 'n Corporal Ratigan, they run her over the 

"Well?" from Laura, breathlessly. 


"The general he confessed, 'n they tried him 
'n " Jakey hesitated. 

"Sentenced him to be ? O Souri, help me." 

And Laura tottered against her friend. 

"Ter be cashyered." 

"Do tell me what it is," gasped Laura, looking im- 
ploringly at Souri. 

"I don't know; what is it, Jakey?" 

"Bein' dropped out'n th' service." 

"And is that all?" cried Laura, hysterically. "Only 
dropped out of the service: and for doing a noble 
act ! Poor Mark ! I know that he will consider this a 
terrible disgrace, but to me it is a blessing. Now I can 
show him how I love him," and dropping her head 
on Souri's shoulder she burst into a torrent of tears. 



MARK MAYNARD was passing the first night after 
his sentence. Jakey had left him, after their dis- 
cussion of the campaign, to relapse into gloom. He 
blew out his candle and threw himself on his camp cot. 
Sleep would not come. The events of the past few 
days caracoled fantastically before him like an army of 
cavalry goblins in review. They had scarcely got by 
before they turned and came cantering back again. 
Thus th^y marched and countermarched till midnight, 
and still no sign of sleep. Maynard tossed and turned 
and pined for day. And what would it bring forth? 
Surely a battle could not be much longer delayed, 
and witli a battle there was a chance for oblivion. 

Scratching a match he reached for his watch. It 
was twelve o'clock. He felt that he could no longer 
bear those low-peaked canvas walls above him. He 
must get out under the broader canopy. Lighting his 
candle he noticed the uniform of private Flanagan, in 
which he had aided the escape of Caroline Fitz Hugh. 
He put it on and, throwing back the tent flaps, stepped 
out into the night. The sky was covered with thin 
clouds, behind which the moon shone, giving a light be- 
tween darkness and moonlight. He set out toward the 
front. Passing out of his own immediate camp he 
ascended the slope of Pea Vines Ridge, which stood 

CHICK A MA UGA . 2 21 

dark against the eastern sky. Climbing to one of its 
highest points, where he could overlook the Pea Vine 
Valley, he seated himself on a rock and gave himself 
over to meditation. Around him was the dark circle 
of the horizon, while above was the great dome. 
Beneath him, on the eastern slope of the ridge, were 
the Union out-posts, beyond which slept a Confederate 
army. Back of him, in the valley of the Chickamauga, 
were the Union troops, the two armies making in 
all a hundred thousand souls. 

And yet these vast numbers seemed dwarfed under 
the great vault above. The heavens would last for- 
ever, but these hundred thousand men must all at last 
be gathered within the slowly folding wings of time. 
Many doubtless in a few days ; a moiety of the whole, 
a few gray beards from the now youthful ranks, meet- 
ing once a year to talk over their long past campaigns, 
speak reverently of their fallen comrades and part to 
convene in smaller numbers the next year. One by 
one they would join those who had become a part of 
the fields on which they fought; their better part re- 
forming in their new-born existence, spiritual hosts 
unalloyed with human passions, to continue an eternal 
contest bet'ween right and wrong. 

While Maynard was thus musing there came a dis- 
tant rumbling from the south. It grew^ faded, was 
lost, and reappeared, the unmistakable rattle of a train. 
It came on slowly from a distance of several miles, the 
rolling of the trucks, the panting of the locomotive, 
growing louder the while, till it reached a point directly 
east of where he was sitting and a few miles south of 
Ringold. There it could not only be heard, but seen 

22 2 CHICK A MA UGA . 

by him. He watched it move on up the road and at 
last it was lost in Ringold. He listened to hear if it 
went further, but the sound did not recommence. 

Scarcely had the train stopped when another was 
heard coming from the same direction. It, too, came 
on, was lost for a time in the tunnel, and passing north, 
stopped where the other had stopped. Then came a 
third and a fourth, all moving in the same direction. 
In less than an hour Maynard counted five trains, all 
of which stopped at Ringold. 

He rose from his seat. "There," he exclaimed, 
pointing to Ringold, "is a point from which, if I am 
not mistaken, there will soon come an attack on our 
lines. They are bringing troops in those trains to 
mass them on our left, where there is so little to oppose 
them. If the trains were going south, it would argue 
that the enemy were retreating. Coming north means 
that they are going to take the offensive. It looks to 
me as if this rapid moving of men at this hour meant a 
daylight attack right here on the left. If so, there is no 
time to lose. I must get back and give a warning." 

He walked rapidly in the direction of Reed's Bridge, 
where he knew all about the forces encamped there 
(cavalry and artillery), but as he walked it occurred to 
him that his information would likely not be credited 
in any event, and as a deposed oiificer it would be espe- 
cially liable to be disregarded. Still he went on, has- 
tening his pace, and coming to the headquarters of the 
commanding officer of the troops he sought, found an 
aide who was on duty all night, the general being ap- 
prehensive in his exposed position, and wishing to be 
called at the slightest sign of an attack. To him May- 


nard recounted what he had seen, and the general was 
awakened and informed. He turned a willing ear to 
Maynard's caution, and at once ordered that the men 
be aroused, the horses fed and breakfast prepared. 
Then the horses were saddled, the artillery harnessed, 
and the baggage loaded into the wagons. 

After imparting his information Maynard went to his 
own camp, called for his horse, and buckling on his 
saber and pistol rode back to the camp he had left. 
He arrived just in time to join a reconnoitering party 
starting to ride over the ridge in the direction of 
Ringold. Being in a private's uniform he was not rec- 
ognized by 'ihe men — his appearance was much 
changed by the loss of his beard — and fell in with the 
last files as though he belonged to the troop. 

The squadron trotted up the road leading through a 
gap in the ridge, and stood on a summit overlooking 
the Pea Vine Valley. By the light of day Maynard 
looked down upon the landscape he had seen a few 
hours before: but ah, how changed. Ten thousand 
men in gray were coming across the valley. 

It is a solemn sight at any time to see an army mov- 
ing to strike a foe. There was something in the silent 
movement — too far for him to hear the tramp of the 
men advancing over the intervening space, still wearing 
its summer robes of green — to remind him of a thunder 
cloud rising in a clear sky. There were compact col- 
umns of infantry steadily marching, while on either 
flank cavalry trotted forward, head up, like a troop of 
lions over jungle. Occasionally there came a confu- 
sion of distant sounds — orders — mere murmurings 
preceding the storm. The advancing host seemed 

2 24 CHICICA I\tA OCA . 

rather a troop of specters, moving with the wind — an 
array of malicious spirits coming to scatter a plague 
from their still silent weapons. 

This fancy vanished with the first few shots from the 
skirmishers. They were too real, too spiteful, to at- 
tril)ute to any but human agencies. Back goes the 
thin line of blue before the scattered Confederates in 
advance, supported by thick columns of dusty gray. 
No skirmisli line would care to stand against these 
columns coming silently, not yet in presence of a foe 
worthy of a volley. 

Suddenly there is a rumbling, a shouting, a lashing 
of horses in Maynard's rear. Turning he sees a Union 
battery, drawn by horses, galloping up the slope from 
the bridge. Dashing into position, the horses are 
swung around, pointing the muzzles of cannon toward 
the advancing host. The guns are unlimbered ; there 
is a boom, followed by a shrieking shell arching toward 
the heavens, and dropping with a sound like an 
exploding rocket over one of the advancing columns. 

The shot produces a change in the disposition of the 
closely packed Confederates, as a turn of a kaleidoscope 
alters the coml)ination of colors. The closed columns 
halt, quickly extend wings on either side, joining tips, 
each while deploying, resembling the continued line, 
from tip to tip, of some huge distant bird. Now they 
are in line of battle, and once more move forward, 
while the Union battery drops shells in their extended 
and less vulnerable ranks. Marching over open 
fields, crossing gulleys, now lost in a wood, to appear 
upon its other edge, bisecting creek and road, a slowly 
drawing coil, a line of the "ribbed sea sand," a streak 


of dust before a rising wind, the Southerners move 
steadily forward. Before them the Union outposts 
give way, retreating under cover of their guns. 

What are those funereal looking wagons driving up 
and being stationed at different points? those, men, 
with a strip of red flannel about their arms, scattering 
themselves over the field? To the young enthusiast 
for war in the distance, who has been impatient to see 
a battle, these wagons, these men marked with red, 
composing the ambulance corps, getting ready to take 
care of dead who have not yet been killed, wounded 
who have not yet been hit, bring the first realization of 
what war means. There is none of the harsh music 
of haiile about these grim-looking wagons, these men 
waitmg for victims, to brighten the eye and send the 
blood coursing through the veins. They go about 
their work in a methodical fashion that dampens ardor 
as water quenches fire. They mock a soldier's ambi- 
tion for glory. There is something in the calculation, 
the preparation, to remind him that, after all, the gold 
lace, the feathers, the martial music, are but to cause 
him, like the pampered sacrifice, to forget what he is 
for — to be shot. 

But Mark Maynard was a veteran, and had seen all 
this before. He gave the ambulance corps a single 
glance, and then looking toward a group of Union offi- 
cers partly concealed from him by the smoke of the 
battery, saw one of them, with the stars of a brigadier- 
general on his shoulder, peer northward through a 
field-glass. Turning his eyes in the same direction he 
could see a light cloud rising west of Ringold. He 
watched it and observed that one end of it was trend- 

2 26 CHICK A MA VCA . 

ing toward a ford, north of Reed's Ridge. The officer 
soon shut up his glass, and in another moment aides 
were galloping away to give orders to retreat. A col- 
umn of Confederates, extending for miles, were march- 
ing to the ford to turn the Union left, and no time was 
to be lost in getting the little force back to the bridge. 

There is a quick limbering of guns, and skirmishers, 
cavalry, gunners, all hurry back over the ridge. At 
the bridge they find two regiments ready for any duty 
to which they may be assigned. They are directed to 
hold the ford to which the column of dust is moving. 
Protected in that direction, the force at the bridge 
awaits more confidently the coming of the advancing 

Tliey have not long to wait. The skirmishers, a 
thin line of gray, is soon seen skurrying over the ridge 
like light scattered clouds before a "white squall." 
The main line of gray is still tramping over the Pea 
Vine Valley, keeping the slow pace of their heavy guns. 
The Union men do not wait for the stronger force; 
they turn upon these skirmishers and drive them back 
through the gap to their more slowly moving comrades. 

Mark Maynard, following with the rest, soon again 
found himself on the ridge. There, in the valley below, 
was the line of battle he had seen, but nearer — a cres- 
cent-shaped line extending from the bank of the creek 
above the ford across the northern end of the ridge 
into the Pea Vine Valley. Battle-flags appeared above 
the line at regular intervals; each one of fifteen flags 
Maynard counted, indicating a regiment. He knew 
that the little Union force east of the Chickamauga 
could not stand against what appeared to be at least a 


division of infantry with a very strong force of cavalry. 
Nor was he wrong; the scythe swung round as if 
moved by the arms of a Titan, mowing with its sharp 
edge the opposing Unionists. They were sent flying 
back to the bridge and hurriedly put themselves into a 
position to defend it. 

They are ready for the storm when it breaks, meet- 
ing it with artillery and charges of cavalry. The Con- 
federates are driven, but by this time their artillery has 
been got forward and posted at a point north of the 
bridge, where it can sweep the valley of the creek, the 
bridge, and those whose purpose it is to defend it. 

Now there is imminent danger. Will the little force 
on the east bank get over or will it be cut off and cap- 
tured by these overwhelming Confederates? It can 
only be saved by one portion charging the enemy while 
the others are moving by twos (the bridge will stand 
no more) across the structure. 

Among those who charged and recharged to keep off 
the gray coats swarming upon them on that eventful 
morning, always in the advance, in the spitting line of 
foam that precedes the billow rolling upon the sand, 
Mark Maynard was ever present. As each wave rolled 
from the margin of the Chickamauga broke upon the 
Southerners, and receded, a number of the Union 
troops had passed the bridge. Maynard waited till 
every man was over, then stepping on the bridge he 
joined a party who were tearing up the flooring, to 
prevent the enemy from following. At last these left 
for the shore and he remained alone. As board after 
board came up, the Confederates pushed nearer, but 
still he worked on. Bullets sang to each other as they 


passed from east to west and from west to east, while 
the air was thick with interminable explosions. At 
last all was done that could be done. Whether his 
action had so excited the admiration of his enemies 
that the}' had no heart to shoot him, or whether an 
overruling power would not let him die, he at last 
turned unhurt and joined his comrades. 

He liad been exposed as never before, as he might 
never be again, but he had not met Death. 



SELDOM has an army been in a more critical posi- 
tion than the Army of the Cumberland at this 
juncture. The Confederates overlapped the Union 
front on the nortli Ijy half a dozen miles, and between 
Confederates and the Chattanooga road, leading from 
what was both the Union left and rear into Chatta- 
nooga, there were only small bodies of cavalry. Bragg 
had but to overwhelm these, cross the Chickamauga, 
and march a few miles westward to seize this road and 
throw himself between his enemy and that enemy's 
base — Chattanooga. It was his intention to cross 
Reed's Bridge by eight o'clock in the morning, with 
one column, and Alexander's Bridge, a few miles 
above, at the same hour, the two columns to join and 
seize the coveted road, attack Crittenden's left, while 
a third Confederate column, crossing at Dalton's Ford, 
would attack him in front. Crittenden once crushed 
under these combined forces, as it was expected he 
would be by noon, the whole Confederate army was to 
overwhelm Thomas, still ten miles distant, leaving 
McCook, twenty miles away, to be finished later on. 

There was nothing on the left to prevent the execu- 
tion of this attractive plan but the two bodies of cav- 
alry at Reed's and Alexander's bridges. Eight o'clock 
came and they were not overwlielmed. The sun stood 


high over the valley of the Chickamauga, and still the 
Confederates had not crossed at either of these two 
points. The defenders of the bridges were a swarm of 
hornets flying in their enemies' faces with many an 
effective sting. At noon they were still stinging. It 
was not till three o'clock in the afternoon that the de- 
fenders of Alexander's Bridge were forced to give way, 
and those at Reed's Bridge only retired on learning 
that the other had been captured by the enemy. So 
the morning and the afternoon passed, and when even- 
ing fell but eight thousand Confederates had been 
thrown across. What was to have been executed on 
Friday, the eighteenth of September, must be deferred 
till the next day. Will it then be too late? 

The moon is lighting up the field, the woods, the 
summits of the two ridges inclosing the valley of the 
Chickamauga, and a hundred thousand soldiers. The 
air is cold and crisp, and myriads of camp-fires are 
scattered over the valley, as a reflection of the starry 
heavens upon the bosom of a lake. All night the 
moon gleams upon the steel of the two sleepless armies: 
the Confederates pushing across the Chickamauga, the 
Unionists marching to cover their unprotected left. 
Many a soldier casts his eye up into the serene heavens 
and remarks the Queen of Night looking down upon 
him, so pale, so cold, so dead, as if in mockery of his 
own animate being, and prophetic of what may come 
for him on the morrow. 

From the southward comes the tramp of dust-cov- 
ered men in blue. At their head rides one who before 
the sun twice sets is to take first rank among the heroes 
of Chickamauga, Thomas is leading his men from a 


distant point far beyond Crittenden, to the exposed 
left and rear; to the Chattanooga road — the road com- 
manding the line of communication of the Army of the 
Cumberland. It must be a forced march, for the time 
is short and the distance is great. 

From the eastward the Confederates are pushing 
across the Chickamauga. Every available passage is 
occupied, but there is little left of the bridges and it is 
slow and hazardous work at the fords. Large bodies 
of men are like streams. They flow easily across open 
countries, but become choked in narrow ways. Yet 
the work goes on. It is a long night; long for these 
men wading through water, or standing in the chilly 
hours past midnight in wet clothing. It is an eventful 
night; for if they get across in sufficient force, and 
the way is still unblocked as yesterday, the fate of the 
Union army is sealed. 

At midnight Maynard lay under a tree, trying to 
catch some sleep. The exertion of the day would have 
brought it, for he was exhausted; but his position, as 
to the army with which he had no place, was burning 
him like a hot iron, A few days before and he would 
have been leading his brigade through these stirring 
scenes. Now he was not even a private soldier. He 
was an outcast, a wretch too detestable for the respect 
even of menial cooks and strikers, of teamsters, of the 
grasping horde of army followers, whose object was to 
cheat the soldier and rob the dead. 

The moon, finding a convenient opening in the 
boughs above him, looked at him in a way that in a 
measure quieted him. What an absence of turmoil on 
her surface! No guns roar in her valleys, no armies 


contend for the possession of her ringed ridges. The 
thought for a moment chased away his desire for obliv- 
ion. He shuddered at her nothingness. The scenes 
through which he was passing seemed far preferable. 
He was in the midst of man's coveted action. While 
that lasted he could not for long be plunged in despair. 
Thank Heaven, he was permitted to seek solace in 
such turmoil, such roaring of guns and yelling of men 
as had come and was coming. 

Toward morning his thoughts became less intense, 
less clear. The sounds coming from a troop of horses, 
picketed near, became more and more confused ; the 
snores of men, resting after a day of hard fighting, lost 
their vigor; the branches above him twined indis- 
tinctly ; he slept. 

He was awakened by the sound of a gun. It was 
broad day. He started up and listened. Then came 
another dull boom, then another, and in a few min- 
utes there was the rapid firing of a battle on the left. 
Surely that is not the little body of cavalry in whose 
ranks he had fought the day before. 

Mounting he rode toward it through a partly 
wooded, partly open country. The fields were gray, 
but the woods were still green. Then there was the 
odor of the morning in the country and the chirping 
of birds, hunting for their breakfast. It would not 
be long before that perfume must give way to the 
smell of gunpowder, before the chirping of the birds 
would be drowned by the sounds of musketry and 

Meeting an aid-de-camp riding at full speed toward 
the south, he called out, pointing in the direction of the 


firing, which he could now discern was on or near 
the Chattanooga road : 

"Who's there?" 

"Old Pap, with two divisions." 

Maynard uttered an exclamation of surprise and 

"How did he get there?" 

"Marched all night." 

"Much force in his front?" 

"You bet! I'm going for reinforcements;" and 
in a moment he was out of sight. 

A courier came dashing from the opposite direction. 

"What news from the right?" 

"The head of McCook's column is at Crawfish 

"Good. The army is safe for the present; the 
game is balked." 

Striking the road leading to Alexander's Bridge he 
found himself in rear of the Union line of battle that 
had opened on the left. A force hurried by to the 
support of comrades at the front. The ground he was 
on had just been fought over, and dead and wounded 
were scattered everywhere. Entering a wood he 
pushed forward through it, A young soldier, a boy 
of eighteen, was sitting on the ground, supported by a 
tree, gasping for breath. A red stream, running down 
his bosom, showed that he had been shot through the 
lungs. "You are thinking of home, my boy," mut- 
tered Maynard, and pushed on. An officer lay in his 
path and begged him for what the wounded crave so 
eagerly — water. Maynard rode about hunting for a 
stream or a spring. At last lie found what he sought, 


and filling a canteen rode back to where the man lay. 
He was dead. In his hand he held a picture of wife 
and two little children.* Within hearing of the boom- 
ing in front and shells cutting the trees above him, he 
had passed from the harshest, through the gentlest of 
human feelings, to the eternal peace. 

Riding on Maynard met an officer he had known 
intimately. Without thought of his altered condition, 
the degraded colonel waved his hand in .salute and 
cried out: "How goes the battle, major?" The 
officer passed by with a look which Maynard never 
forgot. It sent the hot blood mounting to his cheeks. 
He could have cloven the man's skull with his sabre. 
But there was no need of that. Was there not an 
enemy at the front? Yes, and there was death. He 
dashed on and arrived at one of the hottest points on 
the left just as a line of cavalry was moving to a charge. 

Joining them he rode down into a storm so wild, so 
fierce, so full of destruction that surely he thought the 
coveted Death must come. But the gaps in the ranks 
were to his right, to his left, anywhere, everywhere, 
except where he rode. And when the troopers with 
whom he fought came out of the fight Mark Maynard 
was still among the living. 

So opened the battle of Saturday, September the 
nineteenth. Throughout that day Maynard rode 
wherever he saw that the grim specter hovered. At 
times he was with the cavalry, at times he would dis- 
mount, and leaving his horse in the rear go forward 
with a musket. On one occasion, catching the enthu- 

* The incident is related in war memories of an officer : " Steed- 
man and his men at Chicl<amauga." 


siasm of battle, he was forgetting his misfortune, when 
the officer of the regiment with which he fought rec- 
ognized him. The two had been at enmity, 

"Leave these ranks!" 

Maynard turned, saw that he was addressed, and 
who addressed him. Throwing down his gun, the hot 
tears bursting from his eyes, he turned away. 

Again he was tramping through a cornfield on the 
flank of a regiment, when he saw a division general in- 
specting the men as they passed forward to an attack. 
He recognized the general who had sent the spy to him. 
Their eyes met. Maynard had by this time come to see 
through the device by which the other had led him into 
his present position and regarded the officer steadily. 
The man turned his horse's head and galloped away. 
There was one man in the army who did not care to 
look him in the eye. 

Maynard kept Madge, as far as possible, within strik- 
ing distance, returning to her frequently after his 
marches on foot. As the dusk of evening was coming 
on he mounted her and rode forward to get the posi- 
tion of the Confederate line in his front. He was in 
rear of a Union line lying down and firing. They 
would fire, rise, move forward a little, fall and fire 
again. Maynard kept near in their rear, till wishing 
to see how the line joined on the left, he rode in that 
direction. He was astonished not to find any troops 
there. Glancing in his rear he discovered the backs 
of troops firing in the opposite direction. It at once 
occurred to him that they were Confederates, who had 
pushed further forward than their supports. He was 
about to turn away, when he saw that he was discov- 


ered. With that resource for which he had been 
famous in his scouting days, he determined to play a 
bold game. It was growing dark, and in his dusty and 
begrimed condition it would be difficult for anyone to 
tell what uniform he wore. Putting spurs to his horse 
he dashed in front of the Confederate line, holding up 
his hand and shouting: 

"Stop this firing. Stop firing." 

Those who heard him obeyed. Riding along the 
line toward the colonel he cried : 

"Colonel, you'll kill our own men if you don't 
cease firing in that direction." 

Dashing on, as if he were a staff officer on an impor- 
tant duty, he watched his opportunity, and seeing cover 
in the distance gave Madge the spurs and amid a 
shower of bullets (for by this act it was plain to which 
side he belonged) rode into safety. 

"General," he said, riding up to an officer in com- 
mand of a Union brigade, "there are some Confeder- 
ates over there in advance of their line. If you will 
march your men by the flank you'll go in behind 
them and capture them." 

"How do you know?" asked the general. 

"I just came from there and saw them myself." 

The order was given and parts of two Confederate 
regiments were captured. The colonel commanding 
them inquired for the Yankee who had been ordering 
his men about, but by this time Maynard was off to 
another part of the field.* 

The day passed with a succession of blows upon an 

* This feat was actually performed during the war by a young 
ajd-decamp in the Union Army. 


army still too "strung out" for its own good. But 
they were all successfully resisted. Wherever a 
place was weak, some brigade or division was sent to 
strengthen it, usually leaving a place where it had been. 
But all points were strengthened in time; all damage 
repaired, at least the damage on which hung defeat; 
the damage to the dead and thirsting wounded scat- 
tered along the line for miles could never be repaired. 
It could be counted and laid down accurately in the 
ofificial reports; but who can count or repair the 
hearts broken with every charge, every defense. 

And so the sun went down, over a field on wliich there 
was no victory, no defeat; only suffering and death. 



THE night has come again. The smoke has rolled 
away from the battlefield of Chickamauga. There 
is neither sound of cannon nor musketry, except here 
and there an occasional picket firing. There is an- 
other sound within the dark forest where Thomas' men 
are resting, the sound of the wood-chopper's ax. The 
commander-in-chief of the Confederates hears it and 
knows with a general's quick perception that another 
chance of destroying his enemy is passing. He can- 
not enter that forest at the dead of night to stop that 
chopping, and he knows as he hears hundreds of axes 
replacing the more appalling sounds of the day with 
the clatter of their blades, and now and again some 
great tree crashing through its neighbors, that by morn- 
ing his enemy will be entrenched behind breastworks. 
Maynard bivouacked on Thomas' line. The two 
armies lay too near to each other to light tell-tale camp- 
fires, and as all equipage had been sent to the rear and 
blankets were scarce the army spent the night shiver- 
ing. The wood was too thick to see anything above 
the lower branches. The men needed sleep, but it 
would be as easy to sleep on the battlefield as in the 
continuous clatter of those axes. Besides, distrust had 
come upon the whole army. It was an anxious night 
tp the generals, and the men partook of the solici- 

CHICK A MA L GA . 239 

tude of their commanders. It was known that the 
enemy had been reinforced from Virginia, Knoxville, 
and other points. It was rumored that Burnside was 
coming, but Burnside did not come. To a natural 
fatigue was added that more appalling weariness of 
being constantly in the presence of death, and the cer- 
tainty that when the soldier should rise in the morning 
the grim specter would rise with him to haunt him for 
another day. 

At midnight the corps and division generals met 
at headquarters for a council of war. All believed 
that the Army of the Cumberland had been sacrificed; 
that they had been pushed forward without adequate 
preparation or support, and that the enemy from even 
distant Virginia had been permitted to slip away to 
overwhelm them. There was dissatisfaction at the past 
and foreboding for the morrow. As they rode away 
to rejoin their commands, many an officer ground his 
teeth and muttered imprecations upon those whose 
mismanagement they considered had brought an im- 
pending disaster. 

There is a streak of gray in the east. The com- 
mander-in-chief of the men in gray listens for the 
sound of guns in the hands of those he has ordered to 
begin the attack at daylight and which are to be a sig- 
nal for others. The streak broadens; day comes, the 
sun rises; it is eight o'clock. Still all is silent along 
the line. It is only a mistake; only an order not re- 
ceived or understood by the general who was to lead off, 
but in that mistake is involved possible failure. With 
all the vaunted generalship on the field of battle what is 
it, after all, that turns the tide except the mistakes? 

2 40 CHICK A MA UGA . 

Mark Maynard, on that Sunday morning, was lying 
with his body in the dirt and his head on the root of a 
tree. He dreamed that he had just come in from mak- 
ing a charge at the head of his brigade, and was ap- 
proaching his commander to report z glorious rucce:;s; 
that the general said to him, after thankinr ';im f ^r hij 
achievement: "Colonel, it will give me pleasure to rec- 
ommend you for promotion to the rank of briga- 
dier " 

"General!" • 

He awoke and saw Jakey Slack looking down on 
him. It was he who had spoken the word "General!" 

"General," said Jakey, as he saw his friend's eyes 
open. " 'T's ben a damned hard fight." 

"For Heaven's sake, my boy, where have you been, 
and what are you doing here? The battle will open 
soon again this morning. I wonder it hasn't opened 
already. You must get back. " 

"I thort I war a sojer. " 

"Well, Jakey, you are a soldier; that's a fact; and 
I'm not." 

"Reckon I'll git cashyered. I ben away 'thout any 


"Wal, I thort I'd go 'n see Souri afore the fight, cos 
I mough'nt hev no chance after it. I mought git 
killed, 'n then I wouldn't be no good nohow." 

"Have you seen her?" 


"And Laura?" he started up. 


"And you told her " 



Maynard paused in his questions; be dreaded to 
know how his wife had received the news. Did she 
condemn him, with the rest? 

Jakey put his hand in the pocket of his coat and 
took out a card on which was a picture of Laura, hold- 
ing her child. Maynard seized it and in a moment his 
eyes were riveted on it, to the exclusion of all other 
objects; his mind drank in thirstily all it suggested. 

"Mark," he exclaimed suddenly. "For these you 
must win back your spurs." 

"Reckon she 'uns 'ud like fo' ter hear y' talk that- 
away, " put in Jakey sympathetically. 

"Jakey, I'm a changed man. I feel that I am to 
have a chance to vindicate myself on the field to-day. 
For two days I have been fighting in the ranks. I have 
had only a private's opportunity, and that is to furnish 
material for the sacrifice demanded by the god of war, 
while the god only smiles on those who lead the vic- 
tim. To-day — to-day " 

"Somep'n '11 turn up sho', you bet." 

"Come, we must get some breakfast. We'll need it 
soon. This day will decide the fate of the Army of 
the Cumberland." 

Going to a group of soldiers near by, from whose 
camp-fire emanated the pleasing odor of boiling coffee, 
the two asked and received a breakfast. 

A fog hung over the valley of the Chickamauga 
which screeend the two armies from each other. May- 
nard and Jakey were ignorant of their surroundings, a 
hundred yards distant ; so they munched their "hard 
tack" and swallowed their coft'ee, quite willing to be 

2 42 CHICK A MA VGA . 

hidden from Confederate fire while they were doing so. 
Meanwhile Jakey gave his friend an account of his 
trip, and how he had arrived on the field at noon the 
day before. 

"How did you find me, Jakey?" asked the hearer. 

"Wal, I ast a good many sojers and none of 'em 
knew whar y' war. 'Bout dark I heard one o' th' cav- 
alry of the old brigade, our brigade^ that knew y*. He 
was a tellen how y' went with 'em in a charge. They 
all liked ter hev yer do that-a-way. I ast him whar I 
mought find y', 'n he reckoned he sor y' goen up this 
way. So I kem and found y'. That's all." 

As he finished, Maynard exclaimed: 


The fog had suddenly lifted. They were on a ridge 
which had been fortified during the night, the works 
resembling a horse-shoe. Their position was on the 
left side of the shoe and commanded a view up the 
Chattanooga road, which ran directly north from where 
they were. There, a short distance east of the road, 
and overlapping the Union left, the lifting mist re- 
vealed a line of Confederate gray. As Maynard spoke, 
with a shout they rushed forward and took possession 
of the prize they had been trying to grasp for two days. 
They were between the Union army and Chattanooga. 

Leaving Jakey where they were, and instructing him 
to stay there till he should return, Maynard went down 
to take a hand in the fight. He found a dead soldier, 
whose musket and cartridge-box he seized, and pushing 
on to the line of firing, took position with an infantry 
regiment. The enemy, unsupported, were driven from 
the Chattanooga road to a ridge near by, where they 


halted and gave their pursuers a desperate fight. 
Then the regiment to which Maynard had alHed him- 
self was ordered to another part of the field and he 
went with them. Passing through a thick fire of bul- 
lets, which were mingled with the larger missiles of 
cannon, he encountered a sight that has seldom been 
seen on the field of battle. Crouching under a log was 
a little girl * about eight years old, who having got 
caught in among the disputants, was right in the midst 
of a battlefield. Maynard never forgot the contrast be- 
tween the terrified child and the unmerciful scenes sur- 
rounding her. Being a volunteer he was under no 
man's orders, except as he chose to obey them. Fall- 
ing out of the ranks he went to the child, took her up 
in his arms and while bullets pinged about them, and 
shells screeched above them, carried her to the rear, 
to where he had left Jakey. 

"Here, Jakey," he said, setting her down by the boy, 
"it's time you have a sweetheart, so I've brought you 
one. She comes to you from the field of battle and 
probably won't stand any nonsense. So you must 
treat her with proper deference." 

"Golly!" exclaimed the boy, squaring himself be- 
fore the weeping girl, with his hands in his pockets. 

"Take her to that house down there and wait till I 
come; that is, if I ever do come; and, if I don't, tell 
my wife to look out for this little one, and if neces- 
sary provide for her. I must go ; there is hard fight- 
ing at the front." 

Jakey took the little girl by the hand and led her 

* This incident is related in personal memories of an officer : 
"Steedman and his men at Chickamauga." 


away, while Maynard went over to the south slope of 
the ridge to see what was going on at the right. 
Standing on an eminence he looked down on the con- 
tending lines toward the south. 

The sun was now standing midway between the 
horizon and the meridian. The day had thus far gone 
without any especial advantage on either side. Find- 
ing the left strong, the Confederate commander was 
massing troops on the right of the line of blue, May- 
nard could see them marching into position for a 
gigantic effort. 

There was a momentary lull in the firing on the right 
and Maynard thought that from a distance he caught 
the faintest sound of a church bell. It might have 
been fancy, for congregations would not be likely to 
meet near a battlefield, and the continued roar in the 
center and left would likely have prevented a bell 
being heard. At any rate, it suddenly occurred to 
him that it was Sunday morning. 

Sunday morning! What a contrast between that and 
other Sunday mornings he had passed. It was near 
eleven o'clock, the hour when people were assembling 
for worship, and he pictured the neatly dressed throngs 
moving to church, while bells were ringing in the bel- 
fries. All over the broad land congregations were as- 
sembling, unmindful of the struggle that was going on 
at Chickamauga. Doubtless in the early morning in 
the cities "extras" had announced the battle of the 
day before; doubtless in many there was a feverish in- 
terest in the news from the front, and in some an anx- 
iety for dear ones exposed there; but the vast throng 
of worshipers, North and South, were about to bend the 


knee in adoration of a beneficent Creator, while two 
armies representing them were grappling in a death 

But an event occurred at that moment to put to 
flight all thought in Maynard of what was passing else- 
where. The enemy were moving to the attack. As 
Maynard glanced toward the Union line, to see if it was 
in condition, he saw a division face to the left and 
begin a march in rear of another division, leaving its 
place in the line a defenseless, yawning gap. 

"Great Heavens! Some one has blundered!" 

"Halt! Go back! Great God! what are you 

Who could hear him at such a distance, who would 
obey him if heard? Oh, the agony of a sight like that! 
To see men marching not only to their own destruction 
but the destruction of their comrades ; doubtless of the 
whole army ; and without the power to prevent them ! 
Oh, for a battery with which to fire smoke over that 
death-trap, to conceal it. Oh, for a cyclone to blow 
dust in the eyes of those Confederates. God grant 
that the stupidity which prevails in war may seize those 
Southern generals, now; that they may not reap this 
offered advantage. May they be blinded. God ! this 
is terrible. 

"There! They see it. They are preparing to 
march through it. There they go. Hear those 
cheers: that 'rebel yell.' They're near it; they're in 
it. Our men are breaking on the right of the gap. 
There goes a regiment, a whole brigade on the left. 
Heavens! how those gray coats leap forward. It's a 
splendid sight, if they are Confederates. They know 


it's all up with us. The whole right of the army is 
giving way ; broken, scattering pell-mell over the field, 
chased by the Southerners pouring volley upon vol- 
ley after them." 

"Stop and rally! No, no one could rally troops on 
the breast of Niagara. But there's a crumb of com- 
fort: those men nearest this way are bending back 
like wrought iron. They are not breaking. Good! 
There's a faint hope for the left. But, O Lord, what's 
the left, with the right and center gone?" 

That historic blunder, followed by that historic dis- 
aster, carried away in the maelstrom, the general-in- 
chief of the army, the leader of a corps, and several 
division commanders. There was no rallying point till 
Mibsionary Ridge was reached, and that was four miles 
away. Fortunately for the rest of the army some of 
the troops belonging on the right of the Union line had 
been sent to strengthen the left. These were saved from 
the rout, and ready to stand by the still unbroken left. 

And now comes a spectacle, a contrast which must 
always stand out a splendid monument of heroic en- 
durance in the great cemetery of war — the spectacle 
of an army, one-half routed, gone, driven like dry 
leaves, before the wind, the remaining half holding in 
check for more than half a day a force against which the 
whole had found it difficult to contend. Standing in 
the center of the "horse-shoe," the fortification of 
which his wisdom has constructed during the night, 
General Thomas, intent upon guiding the troops of his 
own corps, with no word from his commander-in-chief, 
for a time not knowing, or at least not admitting, that the 
army is by all the rules that govern the science of war 


defeated, goes on fighting as if there is but one Army 
of the Cumberland, and that composed of the troops 
under his command. 

The right put to flight, the Confederates prepare to 
crush the remainder of the army. All around the 
"horse-shoe" they gather their forces, and hurl them 
against the blue-coats. The first onset fails. There 
must be another. A second wave goes rolling on and 
dashes against the logs behind which the one-armed 
Army of the Cumberland is fixed. It recedes without 
making a breach. It will need more such waves — a 
constantly beating surf. Surely that curve, with flanks 
bent almost in a circle, almost touching, cannot be 
called a line of battle ; it may be a curve of battle, but 
how can such a curve stand against the whole Army 
of Tennessee? 

But this curved array of bayonets is too tough to be 
broken in front. It must be taken in flank. There is 
a ridge just beyond the right heel of the "horse-shoe"; 
it has been abandoned by the Unionists; no one seems 
to know why. Climb up. Confederates, seize this 
ridge; it commands the Union right. Once firmly 
lodged there you can hammer them unmercifully. 

And the gray coats do climb the ridge and drag 
artillery with them. 

The Union commander sees them, and at a glance 
discerns that without a force to drive them from it his 
army is lost. There is no such force; every man is 
engaged, and needed where he is. The general's 
brow is knit and his square mouth sets even more 
firmly than before. 

"There is a cloud of dust rising over there to the 


north, General, and men marching under it," said an 
aide. "I wonder who they are?" 

It makes a great difference to the hounded general 
whether they are friends or enemies. He looks anx- 
iously in the direction pointed out by his aide and 
orders him to reconnoiter the uncertain column. The 
officer rides forward to a point where he can get a good 
view, draws rein, dismounts, and climbing a fence 
brings a field-glass to bear on the advancing troops. 
They are far from him; they are covered with dust, 
and their flags are furled, so that he cannot tell whether 
they are blue or gray. If they are gray, that means 
destruction for the troops defending themselves in the 
horse-shoe. If they are blue, they may serve as a for- 
lorn hope on the ridge commanding the Union right. 

The aide not only sees these troops, but the troops 
see the aide. They too wonder if he is blue or gray. 
Neither can tell, but from his position they suspect him 
to wear blue. At any rate, they assume that he does. 

Suddenly every flag is unfurled displaying the stars 
and stripes. 

Enough' Mounting his horse the aide rides over 
the ground between him and the head of the advanc- 
ing column. 

"Who are these troops?" 

"The first divison of the Reserve Corps." 

Posted at the opening of the struggle to guard a 
bridge across the Chickamauga, on the extreme north 
of the battlefield, with orders to hold it at all hazards, 
this division had for two days listened to the sounds of 
fighting without firing a shot. The Confederates had 
made a crossing without using the bridge watched, and 
the division was a useless guard. On Sunday morn- 


ing its commander, chafing at inaction, yet dreading 
the consequences that might occur the blame attend- 
ing a disobedience of orders, determined to burn the 
bridge and march to the relief of comrades whom he 
divined were being hard pressed. Gathering his prin- 
cipal officers in a church near by, he announced to them 
what he proposed to do. The little church, unused at 
that hour of that holy day to anything more vigorous 
than a minister pounding the pulpit or the strains of 
Old Hundred, rang with the assenting acclamations of 

Marching through fields of yellow corn, guided only 
by the distant but continuous roar, the division each 
moment lessened the distance between it and the army 
whose fate hung on its quick coming. The direction 
taken led them toward the north side of the "horse- 
shoe," and the rear of the Confederates. First a small 
body of Confederate cavalry, guarding a hospital, were 
met. These were easily scattered, and the column 
moved on. Striking the Chattanooga road the division 
marched on down it. There were heights to the east, 
and on these were guns. It was plain to the gunners 
that the advancing column was a rescuing column. 
They opened fire to delay it. The Union troops did 
not heed them ; there was a more important enemy, a 
more important work further on. 

But they were marching directly in rear of the Con- 
federate line. Filing to the right, through an orchard 
and open fields beyond, they came to a point where 
the dim outline of the troops engaged could be seen 
through the overhanging clouds of smoke. The Re- 
serve halted in a field between the two bent flanks—^ 
jhe two heels of the "horse-shoe." 



MARK MAYNARD was standing holding Madge 
by the bridle, surveying the battlefield. He heard 
a gun fired from the crest of the ridge so important to 
both armies. He turned and saw the shell it sent, 
whirl in a spiral, screeching above the heads of two 
officers, evidently of high rank, standing in a field near 
the center of the "horse-shoe." One of them, a large, 
massive man, he recognized as General Thomas. The 
other was the commander of the newly arrived division. 
As Maynard looked the latter rode away. He was 
going with orders to retake the ridge. 

Maynard had not seen General Thomas for months. 
Indeed he had met him but a few times since the 
days when he was the general's favorite scout. Re- 
membering his disgrace he was about to go away, not 
caring, in his altered condition, to meet the man for 
whom of all the army he felt the greatest reverence. 
But the general turned before he could do so, and 
looked in his direction. 

It was too late to go away unobserved, and Maynard 
felt a desire to discover if there were not something 
after all in this great soldier so great that he could 
afford to give him a kind word. He walked toward 
the spot where the general stood. 

"What are you doing here, my man?" said the com- 

CHICK AM A UGA . 25 1 

mander of all there was left of the Army of the Cum- 
berland, sternly, seeing the begrimed Maynard in pri- 
vate's uniform and not recognizing him. "Why are 
you not with your regiment?" 

"I have no regiment, general." 

"Your troop, then." 

"I have no troop. I am not a soldier." 

"Who are you?" 

"Mark Malone." 

The sternness on the general's face slightly relaxed. 

"Ah, Colonel Maynard. Pardon me. I did not 
recognize you." 

"No, general. I was Co] or) e\ Maynard; I am now 
a private citizen. I would be glad to assume my old 
scouting name, Mark Malone." 

"I heard of your — misfortune. I regretted it 
doubly, remembering your services when you were 

"Yes, general ; then my services had some value. I 
was fitted for a scout, a spy. You thought I was fitted 
for something better and advanced me. I was vain 
enough to think you right. I did not know myself. 
As a spy I needed no conscience; I was not subservi- 
ent to any principle. When, as a brigade commander, 
I was obliged to choose on higher ground, I failed, in 
the choice. I have proven myself unworthy of your 
confidence. I have sunk to the level from which I 

The general did not reply; he was watching the 
newly arrived division getting into position. 

"You connived at the escape of a spy, I thinkj''' 
he said presently. 


"Worse. T assisted in that escape." 

"A woman: was she not?" 

"She was, general." 

"H'm. It isn't a pleasant task to shoot a woman. 
Yet a soldier must do his duty." 

Maynard did not reply. 

"Colonel, there is going to be a weak spot there. 1 
would like you to go and see that that gap is closed. 
My staff are all away, as you see, on some duty. Ah! 
Never mind. They are marching by the flank, I see. 
Now it's all right." 

He was so intent upon the forming of the line that 
for a moment Maynard thought he had forgotten his 

"Who was this woman?" the general asked, pres- 

"You remember when I went to Chattanooga to 
bring you information of Bragg's movements to Ken- 
tucky, I met a Confederate officer — a Captain Fitz 
Hugh, who twice gave me my life?" 

"Yes, yes, I remember. They're standing well 
down there in the center, and with so little ammuni- 
tion. They'll get their new cartridges presently from 
those brought by the reserve division. The ammuni- 
tion comes as opportunely as the men." 

"They're making a good fight everywhere," ob^ 
served Maynard. 

"Let me see ; you say you were called upon to shoot 
a woman. She was some relative to this Captain " 

"Now Colonel Fitz Hugh. A sister." 

"That made it pretty hard for you, colonel. But a 
soldier must do his duty," 


"Have the Confederates possession of that ridge, 

"They have." 

"And are our men going to retake it?" 

"They're going to try." 

Maynard swept his eye over the position. 

"They f/iusi take it." 

The general shot a quick glance at the degraded 

"You think it important?" 

"The fate of this part of an army — it can't be 
called a whole one — depends upon it." 

"You are right, Colonel. We must take that ridge, 
or before nightfall be flying over this field like the right 
and center; or what is worse, be captured. Thisisnot 
the first time I have observed that your eye is made 
for war. ' ' 

Maynard had become so engrossed that he did not 
hear; he almost forgot his chief's presence. 

"I haven't a command to lead up that hill, but I 
have arms to carry a musket. I'll go in the ranks 
where I've been since the fight began," and he 
started in the direction of the Reserve. 

"Stay, Colonel," called the general. 

Maynard turned and walked back to where the 
general was standing. He waited for him to speak 
further; but he did not. Minutes passed, while May- 
nard watched the absorbed commander, who in turn 
was watching the line forming below. 

"Colonel Maynard," he said at last, "do you see 
that regiment down there? It seems to be short of 
officers. So far as I can judge from its movements no 


one is in command. I shall have to make an infantry- 
man of you, though you are of the cavalry. Go and 
lead that regiment in the attack about to be made on 
the ridge." 

"But, general " 

"There is no time for buts, sir." 

"1 am a civilian, with no right to command." 

"You are in the service till the finding of the court 
that condemned you has been approved. ' ' Then to an 
aide, who rode up at the moment: "Captain, go with 
Colonel Maynard and place him in command of that 
regiment, " pointing. "And let there be no mistake. 
If the order is questioned say that the exigencies of a 
critical moment demand that it be obeyed." 

Maynard tried to speak the grateful words that rose 
to his lips, but either he could not, or he saw that the 
general's eye had caught a new point of danger, and 
was absorbed in it. Mounting Madge he rode away 
with the staff officer. 

There was wonder on the faces of the men who saw 
a new commander in the uniform of a private of cav- 
alry put temporarily in place to lead them. For a mo- 
ment a murmur ran along the line, but some one recog- 
nized him — one who knew his mettle — and word was 
passed: "It's the cavalryman. Colonel Maynard." 

None cared, at that critical moment, for his recent 
trial, so long as there was one at their head who could 
lead them in what they all saw must be a desperate 

Amid the incessant thunders that burst everywhere 
around the line of that horse-shoe curve of battle is one 
place where there is no firing. It is at the ridge, where 


men are forming at its base for a desperate attempt, 
and on its top others are preparing to receive them 
with lead enough to teach them the futility of so pre- 
sumptuous a move. 

All is ready. The line is formed. Seventy-five 
hundred men are about to push toward the realms of 
death, and a larger proportion of them are to enter 
there. At the word ' 'forward ! " the skirmishers move 
out into the thicket that covers the side of the disputed 
ridge, followed by the regular battle line, all climbing 
the hill together. 

Glance the eye along the line. There is the officer, 
his mind intent on keeping his men up to the trying 
work before them; the officer intent in keeping himself 
steady before the eyes of the line he leads. There are 
the faces in the ranks, most of them, if not all, stamped 
with a serious cast, a dread under control, with the 
thought of each that in a few minutes he may be lying, 
pierced by a bullet or maimed by a shell. A few there 
are whose remarkable physical nerve, or in whom a 
natural excitable temperament, gives them an appear- 
ance of exhilaration ; but such are often the most 
depressed just before they are well in the fight. 

While the line of blue climbs the side of the ridge, 
all is quiet above; a quiet that brings a suspense 
harder to bear than a scattering fire. It promises a 
tempest when it comes. And it comes soon. From a 
concealed line, near the top, suddenly there is a myriad 
of explosions. Every missile known to war is sent 
down to stagger that blue line. The first crop of 
human flesh lies under the reaper. 

There was pandemonium on that hillside for forty 

2 5 6 CfllCKA MA UGA . 

minutes. It was an eventful fight for many a man, not 
considering those who were laid low by missiles of war. 
There were a few whose place it was to lead, in whom 
a constitutional inability rendered it impossible for 
them to face such a storm. They were ordered back; 
their places filled by those made of sterner stuff. 
There were soldiers in the ranks who skulked, but their 
officers drove them on. The main force of that reserve 
division of Union troops showed a united strength of 
purpose, which, if it could be transferred to a different 
field, a field of moral heroism, would make an army 
of gods. 

Mark Maynard climbed Avith the rest. For a mo- 
ment when that storm burst, the instincts of a human 
being, acting upon him suddenly, made him recoil. A 
number of quick recollections flashed before him : his 
position; the chance given him to redeem the past, the 
consciousness that men looked to him for strength in 
that trying moment. They were all as nothing com- 
pared with one other; one which prevented any further 
giving back. It was not a desire for death; that was 
too near. It was not a desire tc show prowess at a 
moment when men were either quailing or making 
records as heroes. At that terrible moment there 
came before him, a picture so sweet, so innocent, that 
one may well wonder how it could have appeared amid 
such frightful scenes. It was the photograph of his 
wife and boy. With it flashed the thought: "All for 
them; for myself, nothing." 

Whether he needed this to nerve him to do his 
duty, certain it is that from this moment he forgot 
danger. One idea absorbed his entire being; that 


whether he lived or died word should go back to those 
he loved better than himself, that he was at least not 
among the flinchers. Once this idea possessed him, 
he was a machine — a cog moving three hundred 
wheels. He knew nothing of the deafening sounds; 
he was oblivious to bullets or shells. Like the picture 
of the Sistine Madonna, was ever present the gentle 
face and figure of a woman holdmg up a child. 
Mother and child, in the famous painting, have for 
centuries stood forth a divine light to lead the world 
from sin; mother and child, in the eyes of Mark 
Maynard, were a divine light to lead him out of the 
deptlis into which he had fallen by a violation of prin- 

The time of probation was short, but not too short 
for Maynard's bearing to have its effect. Among the 
few who held the men together, during that brief strug- 
gle for the life of the army, he took an important part. 
The ridge was won, and one of the first regiments on 
it was that commanded by Colonel Mark Maynard. 

The ridge was not only won; it was held. But who 
can depict the holding? It was by a repetition of 
struggles like the one that took it, only the gray 
attacked, while the blue defended. Eight times the 
Confederates charged and eight times they were driven 
back. Night came; there was no light whereby to 
make another. The ridge was in Union keeping; 
the Army of the Cumberland was saved. 

Relinquishing his command Maynard rode through 
twenty-five hundred dead and wounded of the seventy- 
five hundred men who climbed the hillside a few hours 
before, to General Thomas' headquarters. 

:2 5 ^ CHIC ft A MA UGA . 

"Have you any further commands, General?" he 

"Ah, Colonel Maynard. Let me thank you, among 
others, for your work. You men over there have saved 
us. I want you to go back to the cavalry and com- 
mand one of several forces intended to cover our re- 
treat. We must get back to-night to a safer position." 

"I await your orders, General." 

"Colonel," added the general, turning upon him a 
kindly, approving eye, "there are a number to be 
rewarded for to-day's work; among them yourself. 
If we get safely out of this, I shall make a suitable 
acknowledgment of your services." 



'"pHE battle of Chickamauga is over. The Army 
1 of the Cumberland has withdrawn to Chatta- 
nooga, safe for the present, at least, behind breast- 
works. Their enemies are looking down upon them 
from the heights that encircle the town, waiting for 
them to fall an easy prey through starvation. Colo- 
nel Maynard is awaiting the result of army red-tape 
in the matter of his court-martial. The papers in the 
case were lost in the rout of the right, and were for- 
gotten in his efforts to save the left. At any rate, no one 
seemed to care anything about them. The ups and 
downs in military life are rapid, and since the eclat 
attending his gallant services on the ridge, his com- 
rades were disposed to look upon his sacrifice of him- 
self for another as rather a heroic act, after all, quite 
in accord with his peculiar personality. 

One day — it was perhaps a week after the retreat of 
the Army of the Cumberland — Maynard was sitting in 
his tent with Jakey and the girl found on the battle- 
field. Jakey had turned up in due time and renewed 
his services with the deposed colonel. True, that 
colonel's position was somewhat anomalous. He was 
in no great need of an orderly, but was disposed to 
avail himself of Jakey's friendship. He had neither 
seen nor communicated with his wife, feeling a disin- 



clination to do so until something definite should 
occur to establish his future status with the army. 
Jakey therefore continued to be the only friend " pres- 
ent for duty." 

" You say," said Maynard to Jakey, on the occasion 
mentioned, " that you left her at the house to which I 
told you to take her, and took a hand in the fight." 

" Reckon." 

"Where did you get anything to fight with ? " 

" Dead sojer. Tuk his gun 'n cartridges." 

" Upon my word ! I wonder the enemy stood 
against such a reinforcement." 

" Wal, I shot one of 'em, anyway. We was tuk by 
lots more 'n we 'uns, 'n was runnen. Suddcnt I 
hearn a man say, ' Stop, thar, y' little Yankee rascal ! ' 
1 turned roun' 'n sor a ossifer on horseback. He 
called on me fo' ter surrender, 'n I up en shot him."* 

" You don't mean it ? " 

" Reckon." 

"Then what did you do ? " 

" Wal, tother uns, they went on 'n I skedaddled." 


"Then I went back t' the house 'n found Jennie, 
'n by that time 't was gitten dark, 'n the army com- 
menced t' retreat. We 'uns retreated with the rest on 

" On foot ? " 

" Yas, part o' the way. Jennie, she got tired, so we 
sat down by ther road till some cavalry [Jakey had 
learned not to call them critter companies] came along 

* An incident similar to this occurred at Chickamauga. A boy 
of twelve years shot a Confederate officer, and was made a sergeant. 


after the infantry bed all passed. One on em said, 
' Ef that haint Colonel Maynard's orderly.' * 'N 
with a little gal,' said another. Then the fust on em 
tuk me on behind him 'n tother un tuk Jennie on 
before him, 'n we 'uns all covered the retreat." 

" A valuable acquisition to the rear-guard," ob- 
served Maynard, and he began to question the little 
girl. He discovered that she was the daughter of a 
farmer living on the battlefield, who had neglected to 
remove his family till the last minute. Caught in the 
midst of a fight, all became panicstricken, and the 
child was separated from the rest. 

While he was gaining this information an orderly 
came to his tent and showed him a letter post-marked 
County Cavan, Ireland, and addressed to the man who 
had assisted in the escape of Caroline Fitz Hugh. 
But there were features of the address which led 
Maynard to doubt if it was not for some other Ratigan. 

" Where did you get this ?" he asked. 

" It came in with the mail. It's been lying un- 
claimed for several days, as no one knows who it is 
for. There was a Ratigan in the — th Cavalry, but 
he is among the missing. The letter was taken to 
the headquarters of that regiment, and Colonel 
Burke suggested that you might know something 
about the man." 

"Ah, yes," said Maynard, sadly. "You can tell 
Colonel Burke that I saw Ratigan killed. But this 
reminds me," he added. " I must see if I can regain 
his body." Then to the orderly : " I wish you would 
say to Major Burke that if he will give me an escort 
I'll go out under flag of truce and see if I can find out 


anything about Corporal Ratigan, whom I saw fall 
from his horse in the enemy's lines. Ask him to 
make out a request for permission to send out the 
flag, forward it, and let me know the result." 

The result was a permission to send out " the flag," 
and the next morning, after an early breakfast. Colonel 
Maynard, accompanied by Jakey and the little girl, 
whom Maynard hoped to restore to her parents, each 
mounted, and all attended by a lieutenant and twenty 
men, set out from Chattanooga toward Mission 
Ridge. They met the enemy's pickets at the base of 
the ridge, and were conducted to Rossville. Colonel 
Maynard at once requested that he might be accorded 
an interview with Colonel Fitz Hugh, if that officer 
survived the battle. A messenger was sent to sum- 
mon him, and as he had some miles to go, "■ the flag" 
party dismounted, were taken into a house, where they 
awaited the officer's arrival. Every attention was 
shown them, and they were made as comfortable as 
possible. Two hours after the departure of the cou- 
rier, Colonel Fitz Hugh rode up to the door. 

There was always a certain embarrassment between 
these two men, which under the circumstances was 
quite natural, but which was heightened by the ha- 
bitual dignity with which Fitz Hugh bore himself. 
There was much to force them apart, and much to 
draw them together, but it all resulted in constraint. 
Fitz Hugh lifted his hat to Maynard, then advanced, 
and put out his hand. Neither seemed to think of 
appropriate words of greeting, and there was a few 
moments of silence, which was broken by Maynard 
referring to his mission. 


" Colonel," he said, " I am the bearer of a letter for 
Corporal Ratigan — though the superscription gives a 
different title than corporal — the man who assisted me 
on the mission which you doubtless well remember. 
I saw Ratigan fall from his horse and suppose that he 
is dead. Am I right ? " 

" No, sir. Corporal Ratigan lives. He was severely 
wounded by a shot from your men. He managed to 
keep his saddle till his work was accomplished, when 
he fainted through loss of blood. For a time his life 
hung in the balance. We now hope for his recovery." 

" I am rejoiced to hear it. Perhaps this letter is 
for him. Will you attend to its delivery ? " 

" If you will ride with me to Ringold, where he lies, 
you can deliver it in person." 

" That would indeed be a pleasure. Can you get 
permission to take me so far within your lines ? " 

" I can try." 

'' In that case I may look, by the way, for the home 
of this little girl. I rescued her from the battlefield, 
where she was lest." 

A request was sent up to headquarters for permis- 
sion to take Colonel Maynard and two children to 
Ringold and to visit the recent field of battle by the 
way. While the party were waiting for a reply May- 
nard was introduced to a number of Confederate offi- 
cers, and the story getting round that he had saved 
the life of a Confederate emissary — the sister of 
Colonel Fitz Hugh — he soon found himself an object 
of interest. There was little disposition to inquire 
into the right or wrong of his act ; the service was 
quite sufficient, and the deposed colonel was as highly 


honored among the Confederates as he had been con- 
demned by his comrades. 

Permission came for Colonel Fitz Hugh to take the 
party forward, leaving the escort at Rossville and tak- 
ing Colonel Maynard's parole not to divulge anything 
he might see to the Union commanders ; a useless 
provision, for there was nothing of importance by the 
way for him to see. 

It was a singular party that crisp October morning, 
cantering down the Chattanooga and Lafayette road — 
the recent bone of contention — toward the now de- 
serted battlefield. Maynard and Fitz Hugh rode 
together at the front. Then came Jakey and Jennie, 
both mounted like the rest, while a troop of Confeder- 
ate cavalry formed the escort. The two colonels 
talked on everything except what was uppermost in 
their minds. Fitz Hugh several times attempted to 
guide the conversation upon Maynard's service to his 
sister in order that he might make a proper acknowl- 
edgment, but Maynard, foreseeing his intention, always 
made some remark by way of thwarting him. 

" There are the heights from which you shelled the 
reserve marching to our relief," said Maynard, glanc- 
ing to the left. 

" And here our men found themselves near this 
coveted road, over which we are passing, when 
the fog lifted on Sunday morning," replied the 

" Now we come to the * horse-shoe' ridge. Let us 
ride around its base. From what the little girl has 
told me I fancy she lives on the road leading to 
Reed's Bridge." 


" My pop lives down thar," said the child, pointing 
to a cabin a mile below them. 

Leaving the Chattanooga road they followed another 
leading around the ridge, soon striking a third lead- 
ing to Reed's Bridge. When they came fo the house 
pointed out by Jennie, a man was sitting on the fence 
— or one section of it which happened not to have 
been taken for fire-wood like the rest — whittling a 
stick. Catching sight of the child, as the party rode 
up, he went to her, and taking her in his arms, covered 
her with kisses. The mother, hearing the exclama- 
tions, rushed out and repeated the father's caresses. 

The parents expressed as well as they were able, 
and in their humble way, their thanks to the rescuer 
of their child, and the party proceeded on their 

" Good-by, Jennie," said her friend Jakey as he 
rode off. 

" Good-by." 

*' Ef y'll write me a letter, I'll make y' a doll outen 
a corn-cob. I know how ter make 'm." 

" I can't write." 

" Wal, I'll do 't anyhow. Yer a purty nice young 'un 
ef y' air only a gal." 

Riding over Reed's Bridge the party passed through 
the gap in the ridge beyond, and descending the east 
slope, soon struck a road leading to Ringold. They 
rode into the town about noon, and soon drew rein 
before the house where Corporal Ratigan lay wounded. 
Fitz Hugh and Maynard dismounted and entered 
together, Jakey britigingup the rear. In the hallway, 
her eyes large with astonishment at seeing her 

2 66 CHICK AM A UGA . 

brother in company with Colonel Maynard, stood 
Caroline Fitz Hugh. 

If the brother had failed in expressing his thanks 
to Maynard the sister succeeded, but not by words. 
She grasped Maynard's hand, when suddenly, for the 
first time since her escape, a full realizing sense of the 
terrible end she had so narrowly escaped swept over 
her. She was looking her gratitude, with all the in- 
tensity of her expressive eyes, when her formal brother 
said : 

" Caroline, Colonel Maynard suffered disgrace on 
your account. It is proper you should know how 
much we owe him." 

This information was too much for even the strong 
nature of so resolute a woman. She burst into a pas- 
sionate flood of tears. 

" For the first time since it occurred," said May- 
nard gently, " I am satisfied with my act. What is 
the opinion of men to me beside the consciousness of 
having served so admirable a woman." 

Fitz Hugh threw open a door near by, and led the 
way through it into a room where Corporal Ratigan, 
his ruddy locks contrasting with his pale face and the 
whiteness of his pillow, looked at them with the same 
astonishment as Miss Fitz Hugh. 

" Why, Colonel," he exclaimed, " are ye a pris- 
oner ? " 

" No. I came by the courtesy of Colonel Fitz Hugh 
to deliver this letter, which I think is for you. Are 
you Hugh Ratigan ? " 

" Oi am." 

•'Sir Hugh Ratigan ?" 


" No ; me father was Sir Thomas Ratigan, of 
County Cavan, Ireland." 

" Perhaps there have been changes," and Maynard 
handed him the letter. 

The corporal took it and looked first at the black 
seal, and then at the handwriting, which he recognized 
at once as his mother's, and read, " To Sir Hugh Rat- 
igan, United States Army, Tennessee, U. S. A." 

" Me brother is dead," he said solemnly, and then 
tore open the envelope. 

The letter advised him, as he supposed, of the 
death of his older brother, and as the title and es- 
tates of the family descended to him, he was adjured 
to go home and attend to his affairs. 

" Is it as we supposed ?" asked Maynard. 

" It is. Oi'm Sir Hugh true enough ; me brother, 
God rest 'em, is gone." 

" We sympathize with you at your brother's death, 
and rejoice with you at your own inheritance," said 
Fitz Hugh. 

All in turn took the corporal by the hand. 

" You must go home at once," said Maynard. 

" How will Oi go home when Oi'm enlisted for 
three years or during the war ? " 

" We'll have to get you out of that," said Maynard. 
"Your duties are more important in Ireland, than as 
a corporal in our service. We have more than a 
plenty of men." 

" I wish we could say the same," observed Colonel 
Fitz Hugh. 

The visiting party, expecting to return that after- 
noon, had but little time to converse upon anything ex- 

2 68 CHICK A MA UGA . 

cept, Sir Hugh Ratigan's future, and this they con- 
sidered fully. It was arranged that as soon as the 
baronet should be able to travel he was to go through 
the lines, apply for a discharge and go to Ireland. Col- 
onel Fitz Hugh anticipated no difficulty in securing 
his permission to depart from the Confederacy, and as 
he was a British subject of rank it was not expected 
that he would be held to a strict accountability 
for the part he had taken in the escape of Caroline 
Fitz Hugh ; especially as that act had been largely 
lost sight of in an event of greater moment — the battle 
of Chickamauga. These matters once settled the 
party moved toward the door, where adieus were 
spoken ; then mounted and rode away. 



CAROLINE FITZ HUGH had watched over 
Corporal Ratigaa every day since his wounding, 
and by careful nursing had doubtless saved his life. 
It was not for the corporal to fall in love with his nurse, 
for he had loved her ever since the day he first met 
her. When the visiting party had left the house 
she went back to her charge, and after a few words of 
sympathy at the loss of his brother, putting out her 
hand frankly, and with a smile : 

"Arise, Sir Hugh," she said. "You have been on 
your back lung enough. You must get used to sitting 
up and pre|)aretogo to Ireland and to administer your 

" Darlin'," he said, looking up at her wistfully. 

" It's time you were breaking yourself of calling me 
that ; you must forget the Confederate ' telegraph 
worker,' go home and marry one of the daughters of 
the neighboring gentry and settle down to become 
'a fine old Irish gentleman, one of the rare old 
stock.' " 

" That's a fine picture ye'r maken for me ; and 
what'll ye be doing meantime?" 

" Working for my country." 

" And haven't ye promised ye would do no more 
telegraph working ? " 

2 7© CHICK A MA UGA . 

' Oh, that duty has come to an abrii[-)t termination. 
I shall never attempt it ayain. How could 1, after 
the sacrifice you and Colonel Maynard have made 
for me ; besides, if seen within the Federal lines I 
should be recognized, and 1 would then deserve my 

" And what d'ye mean by worken for ye'r country? 
What dy'e call ye'r country? " 

" The South ; the Confederate States of America." 

" It'll not be separated from the rest." 

" Do you really think that Ra — I mean Sir 
Hugh ? " 

" 1 do." 

" Do you doubt the bravery, the resolution of our 
men ? " she flushed, almost angrily. 

" Tut, darlin' ; that has nothing to do with it. Ye' 
haven't more than a third the people of ye'r enemy, 
and of that third a third are black and no use to ye' — 
only an encumbrance. Ye'r seaports are blockaded 
and ye' have no manufactures. Ye'r grain-raising 
territory is swept by enemies and it is useless for ye' 
to plant crops since the enemy is as likely to gather 
them as ye'rselves. Besides all this ye'r principles 
are badly mixed ; ye' say ye'r fighting for ye'r inde- 
pendence, ye'r liberty ; and the reason for that is 
that ye' may more firmly fasten the yoke on the 

" Rats," she said earnestly, " if you were a Yankee 
I would not listen to you a moment. But as a native 
of another land I confess your words impress me. 
Indeed in my heart of hearts I have often thought as 
you think ; not about our lack of resources and all 


that, but I doubt the success of a cause in which our 
inheritance of negro slavery forms so large a part." 

" Ye'd better abandon it." 

" Never, so long as it is a cause ; so long a-s my 
brothers continue the struggle I will be with them." 

" Then so long as the Union Army is fighten' ye' 
Oi'll be in its ranks." 

" You'll do no such thing. You will go home, where 
your presence is more needed ; to your mother, to 
your tenants. Ireland needs all her land-owners, such 
as you, at home. That is your country ; you have no 
interest here." 

" And the United States is your country ; you have 
no other." 

" Rats ! " 

" Darlin'." 

There was a silence between them for some 
moments. Ratigan laid his hand on hers while she 
was looking, with a pained expression, out of the win- 
dow. In her eyes was a far look. Her companion 
had strengthened certain doubts which had at times 
come up to trouble her, as to the ultimate success, the 
real motives which underlay her cause ; and with her 
intense, devoted nature, had led her to feel that all 
this vast effort put forth by her people might in the 
end avail nothing, or would only, if successful, per- 
petuate a wrong. Her lover saw her troubled expres- 
sion. He did not attempt to comfort her by recalling 
what he had said : he pushed on further. 

"Darlin," he said. " Ye're right when ye say 
Oi'm needed in Oirland, Go with me, darlin'. Be 
me wife. Let all this intense effort, this sacrifice 

2 72 CHICK A MA VGA . 

ye're putting into a cause, which I foresee is doomed, 
be given to me tenants. The estate is a large one, 
and there are hundreds of people for ye to befriend. 
There ye can work to a purpose. There ye'r ef- 
forts in behalf of a really down-trodden people will be 
for good." 

"And leave my brothers in the midst of this horrid 
struggle ? I will stay here till the last gun is fired, 
till the last blow of the hammer has riveted our 

" Chains ? " 

*' Yes, chains. Will they not govern us, if they con- 
quer us, as subject provinces ? " 

" Republicans can't hold subject provinces, darlin'. 
They'd have to become a monarchy to do that, and go 
back a hundred years." 

" Rats," she exclaimed, in admiration of the depth 
of his reasoning, the plain, common-sense way he had 
of putting the case. " You must go back and stand 
for parliament ; you're a natural statesman." 

" Never." 

" Why never? " 

" The chains." 

His hand was on hers; and an arm was stealing around 
her waist, as she stood beside him. There was a cer- 
tain breaking, a yielding in her words, which he had 
never noticed there before, as she said : 

" What chains. Rats ? " 

"The real chains ye flung around me when ye 
stood in yer old rattlen buggy and chaffed me, the 
chains that were tightened when I captured ye, the 
chains that have held me to ye ever since, that bind 


me to ye now, that will keep me in America so long as 
you are in America." 

There was a silence in which her face showed 
plainly she was turning over what he had said in her 
mind. But it did not last long. She was used to 
thinking quickly. 

" Rats," she said, "granting all you have said is 
true : granting that we are embarked in an error ; 
I can never leave our people, right or wrong, until the 
struggle is ended one way or the other." 

" I can understand ye'r feelings, but it is wrong to 
indulge them." 

" Why so >. " Again the troubled look. 

"By working in the cause of error, error is fos- 
tered. If ye think ye'r field lies here, choose the 
right cause ; devote ye'rself to the ignorant black ; 
teach him ; encourage him ; befriend him ; help him. 
Work upon your people with all the magnetic influ- 
ence you possess to make him a free man instead of a 

" Become an abolitionist? " She seemed thunder- 
struck at the audacity of the proposition. 

" We're all abolitionists on the other side of the 
ocean. Ye'r two hundred years behind the age." 

There was another pause, while Miss Fitz Hugh 
thought. Born and bred in the South, she had never 
seen except with Southern eyes. Here was a man 
who was giving her views never before open to her. 
She had a mind capable of grasping them, and saw the 
strength, the solid sense, beneath them when properly 

" Darlin'," the young baronet added, by way of 

2 74 CHICK A M^ UGA . 

closing the argument, "the world moves on quickly. 
If ye'r people succeed in this war, in less than a quar- 
ter of a century ye'll either free ye'r slaves or be a 
blot on the face of the earth." 

" Oh, Rats," she exclaimed, " why did I ever meet 
you ? You've sapped the strength I possessed for my 
work. I can never again do my duty as I have done 
it thus far." 

" Darlin'," he said, drawing her nearer to him, " Oi'll 
replace what Oi've taken. Oi'll give ye other duties ; 
the duties that belong to the mistress of a fine estate, 
the duties of a woman of high degree in a country 
where birth is respected far more than here. With 
your vigor, your strong impulses " 

" Guided by your more steady light." 

" Ye may become one of the most influential women 
in the three kingdoms." 

In her eyes came that humorous twinkle he had 
once seen before, when she stood in her buggy in the 
road up in Tennessee and tantalized him for his stupid- 
ity in having been duped by her. 

'* It would be nice to be " 

" To be what, darlin' ?" 

" Lady Rats," and she hid her blushes in the pillow 
on which his head rested. 



THE sun setting over Lookout Mountain shone 
directly in the faces of Maynard and his party 
as, returning from Ringold, they rode into Chatta- 
nooga. It was a glorious October evening, and the 
heights towering above them, covered by unseen Con- 
federates, reposed about the town like huge lions 
watching a wounded animal, confident that at last it 
must fall into their power. 

Dismounting before his tent, Maynard entered it, 
and there found a letter from his wife. She begged 
him to come to her if it were possible, and if not, to 
write to her. He read and re-read the letter again and 
again, and then made an attempt at a reply. After 
writing half a dozen, all of which he tore up, he aban- 
doned the task in despair. His position was too un- 
certain. The sentence of the court-martial hung 
over him like a sullen cloud. What could he say to 
her to comfort her ? He well knew that the only 
comforting she needed was to know that he was not 
miserable ; and of that he could not assure her. 

And so matters hung for a week. Having no duties 
to perform the time passed all the more slowly. The 
Confederates were sending occasional shells from 
Lookout Mountain, and as they were harmless the re- 
ports were something of a relief to Maynard, breaking 



the monotony of the silence. He spent much of the 
time thinking of what he would do in case the 
sentence of the court were approved and carried into 
effect. He formed many plans, which were all 
abandoned. At last he settled down to the resolve 
that he would go to the army in the East, enlist under 
an assumed name ; and await the coming of some 
missile to end his career, as he had intended at Chick- 

One morning an orderly rode up to him and handed 
him an order to report in person at General Thomas' 
headquarters. Calling for his horse and for his own 
orderly, Jakey, to follow, he mounted, and in a feverish 
mood darted away to obey the order. 

What did the summons mean ? Something definite 
in his affairs had come about ; that he felt reasonably 
sure of. Perhaps the papers of the court in his case 
had been found. Perhaps they had been made out in 
duplicate. The latter supposition was the most likely. 
His offense could not be ignored : indeed, he could 
not afford to have it ignored. The sentence must be 
either set aside or carried into effect. Dismissal 
would be far more desirable than living in suspense. 

All these matters rushed through his mind while he 
rode to respond to the summons. The nearer he 
drew to headquarters, the less hopeful he became. 
After all, was it not absurd to expect anything except 
that new papers had been made, the sentence for- 
warded "approved," and he was now to be informed 
that he was no longer in the army. General Thomas 
could do much for him, but there was not a general 
in the army who had a higher sense of a soldier's 


obligations than he. How was it possible that so 
great a leader, so rigid a disciplinarian, one with such 
high conceptions, could do aught in his case but 
approve the sentence ! And now he was sending for 
him to inform him of his degradation. 

Following this reasoning, by the time he arrived at 
headquarters his expectations were at the lowest ebb. 
He dismounted, and so preoccupied was he that he 
left his horse standing without fastening her; but 
Jakey rode forward and seized the rein. Maynard 
gave his name to an orderly, and in a few minutes 
stood before the man whose very presence was quite 
sufficient to strike terror into the heart of a de- 

But the first face on which Maynard's eyes rested 
was not that of the general. Another was there to 
greet him ; one who, he knew, whether he were honored 
or disgraced, would never love him the less. It was his 
wife. The thought flashed through his brain : " She is 
here to comfort me when the blow falls." He wanted 
to fly to her embrace. The impulse was checked. 
He saw that she burned to fly to him ; but she, too, 
restrained herself ; for there, between them, towered 
the figure of the general. INTaynard gave him a quick 
glance, but could discover nothing in his countenance 
to indicate what his fate would be. These glances, 
these surmises, lasted but for a moment, for the gen- 
eral spoke : 

" I have sent for you to inform you of your status 
in the army." 

Maynard bowed his head and waited. 

** The offense for which you were tried," the gen- 


eral spoke slowly and impressively, " was too grievous 
to be overlooked. It would have pleased me in the 
case of so brave a man to set it aside ; but such a 
course would have condoned that which, if it should 
go unpunished, would strike at the very foundation of 
military discipline. In liberating a spy, entrusted to 
your care, you violated a sacred trust, and assumed 
an authority such as is not accorded to any one, save 
the President of the United States." 

Maynard did not raise his eyes from the ground. 
He knew what was coming, and a shiver passed over 

" A new set of papers were prepared and sent to 
me. I forwarded them " 

Maynard's eyes were almost starting from their 

" With my approval." 

" O General ! " gasped the stricken man, catching 
at the tent-pole for a support. Laura could with 
difficulty keep her seat, so eager was she to fly to him. 

" They have also been approved by the President, 
and you have been dismissed from the service of the 
United States, with forfeiture of all pay and emolu- 

Maynard tried to speak. He wished to say that 
he could not complain of the sentence — that, con- 
sidering the offense, it was merciful — but his tongue 
would not obey him. 

" So much for your punishment," the general went 
on, after a slight pause. " There are other matters, 
however, to be considered. These are your youth, 
the circumstances under which you were placed, the 


voluntary sacrifice of yourself made to save another, 
and in obedience to your own interpretation of your 
duty in repaying a sacred obligation. While these 
considerations do not destroy the act or its pernicious 
effect as an example, they show conclusively that it 
did not spring from base motives, but rather in obedi- 
ence to a strong sense of honor, which a soldier 
should hold in highest esteem." 

When the general began to speak of these palliat- 
ing circumstances Maynard did not hear him. As he 
proceeded, however, his attention was arrested. 

" Furthermore, there are your brilliant services, 
both as a scout, and, more recently, in the battle 
through which we have just passed. I have taken 
pains to learn of your services in the ranks on the 
nineteenth of September, and was myself a witness to 
your gallantry on the ridge on the twentieth. I can- 
not find it in my heart to fail in my acknowledg- 
ments to any man, however he may have erred, who 
engaged in that desperate struggle, which was a turn- 
ing point in our fortune, and may be said to have 
saved us all from rout or capture. Besides, for more 
than a year I have watched your career with interest. 
I am sure that you are possessed of undoubted mili- 
tary talents — perhaps of a high order. I believe it 
to be true wisdom on the part of the government to 
retain those talents for the country. Therefore, in 
the interest of the United States, and for gallant and 
meritorious conduct at the battle of Chickamauga, I 
have suggested your name to the President for the ap- 
pointment of Brigadier-General of Volunteers. A 
batch of such appointments, including yours, was yes- 


terday sent to the Senate, and I have a telegram an- 
nouncing that they were all confirmed." 

Suddenly it seemed as if there had been a loosen- 
ing of invisible cords that had been holding hus- 
band and wife apart. In the fraction of a second 
they were locked in each other's arms. Tears, the 
usual mode of expression of deep feeling in woman, 
did not come, only to the wife. Yet in a measure the 
sexes were reversed. Laura was more smiles than 
tears ; Maynard only wept. 

Soon remembering in whose presence he stood, 
Maynard disengaged himself. Turning to General 
Thomas : 

" General," he said, in a broken voice, " I cannot — 
thanks are nothing — time must show how well 1 ap- 
preciate what you have done. Is there another man 
in the army who could afford to take so enlarged a 
view in such a case? Is there one with so farseeing 
an eye, so keen a sense of a soldier's duty, tempered 
with so kind a heart ? " 

Maynard paused for a moment ; then, with a sudden 
burst of enthusiasm : 

*' But wlio shall reward the man who on that terrible 
day held together the Army of the Cumberland ? 
Can the President bestow an adequate rank ? Would 
the title of full 'General' avail? No! It is for 
the people to reward you with a title, not given by 
an individual, but by the common consent of vast 
masses — not only for a day, but so long as there shall 
be a history of this war — the Rock of Chicka- 




LAURA MAYNARD, after a long period of solici- 
tude as to her husband, — detained at home by a 
temporary iUness of her child, — had at last found it 
possible to go and seek him. She had arrived on the 
morning of the news of his appointment, and at once 
sought General Thomas's headquarters. There she 
had been informed of the status, and a messenger was 
at once sent for her husband. 

Leaving the tent, where Maynard had first been 
plunged in despair only to be elevated to a condition 
of mind bordering on ecstasy, the two sought a hotel 
where Laura could be made comfortable till the next 
day, and there passed the time in going over the period 
since they had parted, and rejoicing at the outcome 
of the singular complications which Fate had been 
pleased to bring down upon the husband. 

But all meetings must have an end, and at last the 
husband departing, rode to his tent. There he found 
a messenger waiting for him. 

" * Flag of truce ' wants to see you on the picket 
line, sir." 

Without dismounting, the newly created general 
rode in the direction of Mission Ridge and met " the 
flag " at its base. There stood a mounted party of 
Confederates, one of them bearing a white flag, headed 



by an officer — a son of the South who spoke every 
word as though it were of momentous importance, 
never omitting the word "sir." 

" Are you Colonel Maynard, sir ? " 

" I am, or at least I was. I hardly know what I am 
just now. I should not be surprised to be informed that 
I was to command all the armies of the United States." 

The officer looked puzzled. 

" I am the bearer, sir, of a message from Corporal 
Sir Hugh Ratigan. He is to be married at seven 
o'clock this evening at General Bragg's headquarters 
on Mission Ridge." 

" The devil he is ! " 

"That is his intention, sir ; he desires your pres- 

" Whom does he marry ? " 

" Miss Caroline Fitz Hugh." 

" I have been more surprised at other announce- 
ments, I confess. I don't wonder he invites me to 
his wedding, since I helped him to a wife." 

" Shall I transmit your acceptance of the invitation, 
sir? " 

" On one condition." 

" Please name it, sir." 

"I fear it will be unacceptable to Colonel Fitz 
Hugh, who will doubtless be the host or one of the 
hosts. He will not likely yield in a matter of etiquette 
which I must insist on." 

" Colonel Fitz Hugh cannot be present, sir. He is 
now in your rear with our cavalry completing the star- 
vation of your army in Chattanooga, by destroying 
your lines of supply." 


"H'm. I was not aware of any hunger in our 
ranks ; indeed, my request is, knowing that your own 
larder in the Confederacy is not exactly abundant — 
that the horn of plenty is not burying you like Her- 
culaneum under the ashes of Vesuvius — that the 
blockade " 

" The blockade is not effective, sir," interrupted 
the officer, stiffly. 

"Has somewhat reduced your wine cellars, my con- 
dition is, I say, that I may be permitted to bring half 
a dozen cases of champagne for the wedding feast." 

" I assure you, sir, that it is not necessary. We are 
getting cargoes of wine from Havre by a regular line 
of steamers. It is your own mess tables at Chatta- 
nooga that are doubtless bereft of beverages, owing 
to the fact that our General Wheeler is circus-riding 
in Tennessee, leaving no road or railroad open to 

" Do you consent that I shall bring the wine ? " 

" I do, sir, but shall claim for the host, a general 
officer related to the bride, the privilege of supplying 
an equal number of cases." 

" Agreed. I will meet you here at six o'clock this 
evening, when you can conduct me and my party to 
the place where the ceremony is to take place. You 
may say, if you please, that I shall consider the invita- 
tion extended to my wife, whom I will bring with me." 

" We shall feel highly honored, sir, at Mrs. Maynard's 
presence. Am I to infer, sir, that your wife has been 
able to reach you over the burnt bridges and trestle- 
work in your rear ? " 

'' She has found no difificulty whatever in joining me," 


Maynard failed to add that Laura had only come 
a few miles to meet him. 

" Good day, sir," said the officer, raising his hat. 
" I shall expect you at six." 

" Good day ; I will be on time." 

And each rode away in the direction of their respec- 
tive camps. 

Maynard's offer of the wine had come about in this 
wise : Jakey, during the previous week, had been in- 
vestigating such empty houses as he could find in 
Chattanooga and had loaded himself down with knick- 
knacks, such as china ornaments, pictures, crockery, 
cutlery, including even daguerreotypes. On one oc- 
casion he thought he had discovered a box of muskets. 
This he reported to Colonel Maynard, whom he per- 
suaded to go with him to a cellar, near by, and make 
a search for concealed arms. The muskets were 
found, besides half a dozen cases of champagne, 
which had doubtless been there since the beginning of 
the war. 

Upon leaving the picket line, Maynard rode to ibe 
house where he had seen the wine, and secured it for 
the evening, placing a guard over it. Then he went 
to the hotel and bade Laura get ready to attend a 

There was consternation in the Confederate camp 
when the officer returned with the information that 
the Yankee had tried to bluff him by claiming the 
privilege of bringing champagne with him, and that he 
had claimed the right for the hosts to furnish an 
equal amount. The telegraph v;as set in motion at 
once, directing search to be made in all the neighbor- 


ing towns for the required beverage. Dalton, Cleve- 
land, and other points were ransacked without suc- 
cess. About two o'clock in the afternoon, as de- 
spair was settling on the Confederates, a telegram 
was received that some champagne had been found in 
Atlanta. The authorities there were directed to send 
it by special locomotive, marking it " Ainmunilion. 
Forward with dispaic/i." 

At seven o'clock Maynard, accompanied by Laura, 
and Jakey who was always with him, besides a wagon 
containing the cases of wine, were at the appointed 
place on the picket line, where they were met by the 
Confederate " flag." Transferring the wine to the 
backs of pack-mules, all started up the side of Mis- 
sion Ridge to General Bragg's headquarters. 

As they approached the crest a body of Confederate 
officers, a gay cavalcade in gray and gold lace, rode 
out to meet them. They were received by the rela- 
tive of the bride — an uncle — referred to by the officer 
who brought the invitation. He was an elderly man, 
of a dignified and serious mien. The party were con- 
ducted to a large marquee set up for the wedding 
feast. There they alighted and the wine was unloaded 
and carried inside. 

A few minutes before seven o'clock the guests were 
conducted to a knoll, on the summit of which had 
been erected a canopy of flowers, and where stood a 
group of Confederates of high rank. On the eastern 
horizon stood the full moon ; below to the east was 
the battlefield of Chickamauga ; to the west, the 
Army of the Cumberland, besieged in Chattanooga, 
on half rations. As the guests approached, the groom 

2 86 CHIC KAMA UGA . . 

Still in his uniform of a corporal, attended by his best 
man — a Confederate non-commissioned officer of good 
family, detailed for the occasion, was seen moving 
from the north toward the knoll. At the same mo- 
ment the bride — attired in a dress made of a coarse 
white stuff, manufactured in the Confederacy, and at- 
tended by several bridesmaids, who had come from 
a distance to officiate, approached from the south. 
The two met on the knoll under the canopy. An 
officer of high rank, who was also a bishop in the 
Church, stepped forward, and Corporal Sir Hugh Rati- 
gan and Caroline Fitz Hugh were made one. The 
only lamp to light the nuptials was the round moon in 
the east. The only canopy, save that composed of 
flowers, was the broad heavens above, in which the 
stars had only just appeared for the night. The only 
wedding bells were occasional booms from guns on 
Lookout Mountain. 

The ceremony over, the bride and groom repaired 
to the marquee, lighted with candles, where they took 
position to receive the congratulations of the company. 
All gave way to Colonel and Mrs. Maynard, who of- 
fered theirs first. 

" We must give you up, I suppose," said Laura to 
the bride, " just as we would like to know you better. 
You go abroad, I suppose." 

" No, I remain here." 

" But Sir Hugh will go?" 

"Yes, as soon as he can get his discharge. He goes 
to Virginia, from here, where he will pass through the 
lines to Washington, and will put his case in the hands 
of the British Minister, He anticipates no trouble in 


getting a discharge from the Federal Army, and hopes 
to sail within a month for Ireland." 

" And you ? " asked Laura, in some surprise that the 
bride could bear to part so soon with her husband. 

" I ? I remain with my people till the last gun has 
been fired. We have argued that question, and such 
is my decision." 

" Moi decisions," observed the groom, " are a thing 
of the past." 

Leaving the newly married pair. Colonel Maynard 
approached the master of ceremonies, the bride's uncle. 

" General," he said, " I esteem it a privilege that 
you have waived your right to furnish all the viands 
for the wedding feast, and have permitted me to con- 
tribute. " There," pointing to the boxes of wine he 
had brought, "are six cases of champagne, which I 
beg you to accept as a contribution from the army in 

At a signal from the officer addressed, a negro 
removed a blanket covering a dozen boxes in a corner 
of the tent, which had come a hundred miles and had 
not been in position ten minutes. 

" I see your six cases. General, and go you six cases 

" Having no further resources at hand," said May- 
nard, bowing, " I retire from the game." 

" Hannibal," said the Confederate, " you may 
advance the force in the first box to a position in line 
on the table." 

" Yes, sah," said the person addressed. And seiz- 
ing a sabre standing in the corner, he unsheathed it 
with a flourish and pried open a box of the wine, In 


a moment a dozen bottles were standing on the table, 
like a platoon of soldiers. 

"Now, Hannibal, you may fire the opening shot." 

Hannibal broke the wires ; and a " pop," a far more 
welcome sound than those that had been so recently 
and frequently heard by all present, announced that 
the feast was not only set but begun. 

" I must apologize for our glassware," said the 
master of ceremonies, " our champagne glasses were 
all shattered by the concussions at Chickamauga." 

And well he might. The array consisted of tin 
cups, wooden cups, glass cups, and tumblers, all either 
cracked, broken, or dinted. And as a circle was 
formed to pledge the bride and groom, one Confeder- 
ate screened himself behind his comrades to avoid 
being seen drinking from a gourd. 

When the contents of eighteen cases — a regiment 
of " dead soldiers " — lay on the table, the guests pre-" 
pared to depart. The last words had been spoken by 
General and Mrs. Maynard, and by Sir Hugh and 
Lady Ratigan. Jakey, who had thus far wandered 
about unobserved, though not unobserving, stepped 
up to the bride and groom. Though he had not 
tasted the wine, his eyes glistened with intoxication at 
the union of his two friends, whose attachment he had 
noticed from the first. 

" Miss Baggs, air you'uns 'n Sir Rats goen ter 
ride roun' Tennessee some more in the Chicken 
Coop ? " 

There was a burst of laughter from the party, 
and Lady Ratigan, with a blush, informed Jakey that 
the Chicken Coop was broken in pieces, 

CHICK A MA UGA . 2 « 9 

"I didn't know nuthin' 'bout that. Reckon Sir 
Rats 'd find 't handy in Ireland. 'T's kind o' funny you 
'uns starten out way up by the mountings, 'n felchen 
up down hyar, nigh outer th' Georgy line." And 
Jakey surprised the company by giving tlie only "ha, 
ha," that had to this moment ever been heard to issue 
from his serious lips. 

As the guests descended the side of the mountain, 
a cheer was heard in the direction of Chattanooga. 
They stopped and listened. A man rode out from 
the Union picket line to meet them. 

" What's that cheering ? " asked General Maynard. 

" Ole Pap's in command of the Army of the Cum- 



Ormsby Macknight Mitchel, 


A Biographical Narrative by his Son, F. A. Mitchel, 
With Steel Portrait. Crown Zvo,gilt top, $2.00. 

From the Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

General Ormsby M. Mitchel left a record in science and in the 
art of war to which students of both will long turn for enlighten- 
ment and for a high example. He was the first American 
astronomer of his day, and among the generals of the civil war he 
had no equal for far-reaching, aggressive combinations and 
rapidity of execution. 

From the Boston Advertiser. 

In reading the biography of this man, our faith in human nature 
is increased. He was a great man in the truest and best sense of 
the word ; and his life is one that can be held up to the youth of 
the nation as an example for generations to come. 

*^* For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, postpaid, on 
receipt of price, by the Publishers, 


II East Seventeenth Street, New York, 

*** For sat, 


II East Se\